


A Matter of Dependence

by ninetiesnecklace



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Sex, Bottom George, M/M, Manhandling, Power Play, Rough Sex, Rumours, Tension, Top Ross, and drama towards the end, reputation, so much porn, suggested ship name: Gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 98,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4618173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninetiesnecklace/pseuds/ninetiesnecklace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ross returns from the war and finds his life in ruins. Elizabeth is married to Francis, his land and mine are only slowly recovering and to top it all off George continues to focus on him stronger than before. But for once his bootlicking attention might actually be what Ross needs to act out his desperation and anger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Smoking Room

**Author's Note:**

> I actually thought that I’d be done with Ross/George after [ A Word in Private ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3868021/)but as it turns out this pairing has kicked off something in me. Something porn-y. There’s an overarching storyline that will grow more tense though I’m not gonna lie: most of what I’ve already written is porn. 
> 
> Special thanks to ConsultingFili: plotting and beta-reading and Tabris: Assisting Perv (sorry for withholding the text, dear!) It’s a pleasure rowing this canoe with you fantastic and creative pervy ladies! <3
> 
> We suggest the shipname “Gross” because a) it’s fucking hilarious and b) our humour is awful. I guess "Poldeggan" would be okay though, too… any opinions on that from the other ca. five people who ship it? :)
> 
> On a more serious note: I am very well aware that their relationship is not a healthy or responsible one in this story and I’m not trying to make it out as one. 
> 
> Well then, proceed at your own risk.

“Ross,” George’s voice was as soft as always when he spoke. There it was, the breathy hissing sound at the end that had become his trademark. A trademark that irritated Ross more than he wanted to admit. But a strained gasp mixed into his tone when Ross grabbed a handful of George’s formerly carefully arranged hair and thrust faster, growling at the mention of his name.

George’s chest hit the door he was pressed against, his nails scratching along the polished wood for leverage. Like Ross he was still fully clothed save for his breeches that rested on his thighs, the hem of his shirt crumbled and pushed up, held in place by Ross’ right hand. His other hand rested on George’s hip where his fingers dug into the soft flesh. George was so incredibly… smooth, an invitation for Ross to rough him up and mark his pale skin. Let out his anger. Sweat was making his curls stick to his temple and ran down his back under the layers of clothing but Ross was already too far gone to care about appearances. George was tight, willing and moved like a whore under him, taking whatever Ross was giving and catering to his needs. Ross tightened his grip on George’s hip as if to put this theory to the test and indeed the banker reacted like he wanted: giving a low groan and adjusting to the direction Ross’ fingers were giving. The music seeping in from the outside barely covered their ragged breathing and the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

Ross’ mind was a bit blurry from George’s whiskey and he felt like he was missing parts of this evening. Not that it mattered. It was a party like any social event in this circle. Grand, elegant and attended by people Ross mostly held contempt for. All the bankers and the snobby business men, people of high birth or married away to secure a good name. Ross hadn’t wanted to go. The idea of spending the night at his house alone with a bottle of brandy as company had been very appealing. But ever since the mine was in working order again and producing reasonable gain he had sourly remembered the importance of social gatherings; if only to be seen. His serious expression had kept most folks away and so Ross had taken to drinking and gambling while in the main hall the dancing began, opened by the host, Warleggan senior.

And his only son was currently panting under Ross’ aggressively moving hips.

George whimpered deliciously when he hit his sweet spot, one hand reaching over his shoulder and grabbing Ross’ neck. His back arched in the motion and Ross’ left ran over the clothed chest, clawing at the buttons of the tan waistcoat in impatience to feel more of his smooth skin and to strip him off the ridiculous parading of wealth he insisted on. But George’s wardrobe might well be armour without a chink for Ross to reach bare skin. An impatient grunt came out of his throat when he grazed George’s prostate again and the banker threw his head back with his eyes firmly squeezed shut. Ross’ hand moved up to George’s torso, reaching the soft and undoubtedly expensive kerchief that was wrapped around his throat. Like everything about George from the waist up it was perfectly in place despite Ross’ rough pace – a fact that fuelled his anger further. He continued to thrust into him and in a hard yank he all but ripped the fabric off George’s neck. Finally, more of the ridiculously soft skin exposed. Ross pressed his lips on his neck, not to kiss George but to suck hard, creating a bruise that would darken the pale skin. His hand stroked over George’s smooth jaw and moved down to place itself on the base of the banker’s throat. Ross rubbed over his collar bone, two fingers brushing over George’s fiercely fluttering pulse.

“Oh god, Ross,” George panted, his pulse giving another jump when Ross stroked up his bare throat with his fingertips, “you’re… so good…”

He had been with him at the card table, Ross suddenly recalled – the banker’s words a deprived echo of his approving statement when Ross had won a few rounds. Sitting in his vicinity, an aloof expression on his face George had held on to his one glass of wine while making sure that Ross’ glass was never empty. When the brunet had walked around the halls aimlessly several drinks later, sneering at the splendour that characterised every last stone of the Warleggan mansion, after having seen _her_ … George had been there with a new glass of whiskey. His hand had lingered longer than necessary when he passed on the drink with a word on offering…. Offering what exactly? Ross didn’t recall but it had led them here, to this room, to his cock sliding in and out of George in fast and hard thrusts that drew throaty sounds from the banker.

“Quiet,” Ross commanded through gritted teeth, George’s Adam’s apple jumping hectically against his fingers. The last thing he needed was someone hearing George’s gasps and attempting to open the door. They were still on the ground floor, only a door and a short corridor away from the main festivities.

Besides, Ross didn’t want to hear his voice, didn’t want to be reminded who he was fucking. This was purely circumstantial. A rut behind closed doors while all the elegant lords and ladies feasted on alcohol and gossip.

And it felt good.

Ross pressed his chest closer to George’s back and changed the angle and speed of his thrusts. The banker let go of Ross’ neck, bracing himself against the door again at this new rhythm and eager to adjust without an attempt at taking over control. Slower but deeper movements drew choked sounds from George as he tried to adhere to Ross’ command. Well, he was nothing if not obedient. A perfect target for the anger Ross had been fostering all night.

Ross moved his hand from George’s throat and grabbed him by the hips with both hands, George’s bones pointed under his fingers and giving way to a firm arse. The brunet tightened his grip on George’s hip and pulled him back in time with his thrusts, denying him any control over his own body. It was Ross who set the speed and decided just how he wanted to take George – a thought that only added to Ross’ arousal. He was in charge, he was the one to decide how and when he’d find release. How dutifully George followed when Ross buried himself in the banker at his own pace, adding a small extra push to make sure George felt just how much deeper every thrust went. From over his lips stumbled a string of low gasps that resembled Ross’ name, making the brunet even harder if possible.

Because more than the society and the unnecessary splendour of the Warleggan’s house Ross was enraged by his cousin Francis and… Elizabeth.

Elizabeth. Ross growled. He had seen her, beautiful and lovely like he had remembered her during the war – escorted by Francis who showed her off like the proud husband he was. Her dress had been new, undoubtedly a wedding present, and hugged her figure in all the right places, her accessories underlining her beauty subtly. And her smile… Ross snapped his hips and George cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure, a sound coming from deep within his throat. With a sharp grasp Ross grabbed his hair and pulled him close, his lips pressing on George’s to muffle the sound. A hot tongue pushed greedily into Ross’ mouth together with the rest of the cry. Red wine, perfume and powder. The fact that nothing of it was inherently _George_ made Ross kiss back hungrily. He could be fucking a servant for all he knew, some lad who was too eager to please and desperate for a shot at being noticed. Dragging his teeth over George’s lower lip and immediately claiming his mouth again he synced the movements of hips and tongue. The banker gasped and bit back his moans under the onslaught of Ross’ body, moving keenly to comply and let himself be taken.

Ross could feel his orgasm building and let out a low groan before he broke the kiss. Shoving George’s chest back against the door he pressed against him, one hand back at the base of his throat, the other pushed against the doorframe next to George’s. He was dimly aware of the banker stroking himself, still trying to keep quiet like Ross had commanded. _What an obedient little servant_. George stretched his throat, offering himself up to his control. Ross’ hand put just the smallest amount of pressure on the skin, a hint to what he could do to him if he decided. George’s breathing came quicker as the idea seemed to spark in his mind and his hand worked on himself harder to the rhythm of Ross’ thrusts.

The brunet was slamming into him now without restraint, anger and lust his only constants when under him George shuddered in release, soiling the door. The banker pressed his mouth against his forearm to mute his choked groan while his fingers still danced over his cock and stroked himself through the orgasm. Ross’ hand slid into his neck and grabbed the soft hair so that George’s lips were pulled away from his arm. Half of George’s gasp filled the room as he clenched around Ross’ cock and moved in messy and needy movements. The shameless sound in his ears, his muscles twitching and with his shirt drenched in sweat and sticking to his back Ross felt strung like a bow. His head was spinning at this height of arousal when the next hard thrust did it. In a rush of heat he came with unexpected force, his hips stuttering as he spilled into George. He slammed George against the door, all earlier reservations about noise forgotten as he pushed against the banker’s clothed back. George gave a low huff that drowned in Ross’ deep groan. Riding out his orgasm in George’s compliant body Ross bit the spot where his long neck met his shoulder. Shirt and skin filled Ross’ mouth as he grunted another time and slumped against George, steadying himself and trapping the banker between him and the door. He was breathing raggedly against George’s shoulder while his cock was still buried deeply inside him. George’s hips hadn’t yet stopped squirming, giving Ross little bouts of friction that shot through him hotly as he tried to catch his breath.

His temples were throbbing, making his vision turn blurry for a moment and obscuring George in front of him. The banker was still panting, seeking leverage on the door to which he was pressed. When Ross’ vision returned to normal it showed him George’s shoulder which was red with his bite mark, and his cotton hair sticking to his pale neck on which Ross had sucked hard enough to draw a bruise. He let go of George’s hair and leaned heavily on the hand that was placed on the door, pushing himself up to stand on his own feet again. When he slid out of George the banker gave a low gasp, resting his forehead against his arm.

Ross turned away from the door with a few steps, not willing to see the servant become George again. This encounter had nothing to do with him but with Elizabeth. The brunet drew his eyebrows together as he took out a handkerchief from his pockets, cleaning himself up as well as possible. His infuriation wasn’t exactly gone but letting it out – and in such a way – had certainly made it recede to annoyance. The relayed weightiness that settled on his limbs as his body came down from the orgasm kept his mood mellow for the time being.

In his back George was shuffling as Ross continued to put his clothes back in place. His breeches weren’t soiled, luckily, and the sweat-drenched undershirt wouldn’t be noticed under the jacket. Besides, he had no desire to stay at this house for much longer than necessary. George’s perfume stuck to him and Ross could scarcely wait to have a bath and finally be on his own again, far away from the pomp and circumstance. He ran his hand through his hair to somehow tame it again and leave this house before he grew fully tired.

Except that George was still between him and his way out. Ross stared at a picture of an incredibly posh old man as he listened to the shuffling in his back fading away. He took a deep breath and turned on his heels, walking brusquely towards the door. George was indeed fully clothed again as Ross could see through the quick look he assessed him with. The banker had positioned him next to the door frame, looking at him with an indeterminable expression on his face.

“Ross,” he said, voice slightly breathy – whether it was his usual tone or a repercussion of their intimacy the brunet couldn’t say. But it didn’t matter because Ross had no intention of stopping and listening to George.

Before he could arrive at the door, however, George continued to speak. Not submissive like he had moments before, pinned down and panting under Ross, but in his business tone. “If your anger about women threatens to overwhelm you again – I would gladly take it upon myself to distract you from it.”

Ross froze in his movement, one hand stretched out to reach for the doorknob. _How…_ This was outrageous. There he stood, every inch the self-assured banker, and took such liberties.

One large step and Ross stood back in front of George, grabbing him by his shoulders and shoving him hard against the door. Every relaxation Ross had felt was gone in an instant, the carefully subdued anger sparking anew at George’s words, at the sheer audacity of the insinuation. The banker huffed in surprise but didn’t fight back, providing no further target for Ross’ anger. Ross grunted and his right darted forward, wrapping itself around George’s throat – this time with more pressure than before. George’s eyes grew wide but the smug look on his look remained intact.

“How dare you assume my reasons,” Ross hissed, coming so close to George’s face that he could make out every speck in the blue grey eyes, “You do not perceive either my character or affiliations, George, do not delude yourself in that respect.”

George simply looked at him with his detached expression, seemingly unimpressed by Ross’ demonstration of physical strength. “I do perceive that you enjoyed yourself.”

Ross stared at him, at loss for words at the plain statement. Oh no, he wouldn’t go there, not with George standing opposite him, not ever. His eyes narrowed when he let go of the other’s throat slowly. Then, with a swift move he grabbed George’s arms and pushed him to the side, away from the door. The banker took two staggering steps to regain his balance when Ross turned the doorknob, tore open the door and stormed through it onto the thankfully empty corridor.

“My offer is a genuine one, Ross,” George’s voice came after him, “Consider it.”


	2. Nampara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross is trying to come to terms with what happened. Not in a successful way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I admit there's no porn in this chapter. But in the next, promise.

Ross’ body hurt from scything which didn’t stop him from hacking furiously at the corn on the field. Work was a lot more since he had to let go Jud and Prudie but then again they hadn’t really helped all that much. Still Ross wished that there was someone else to take on the tasks within the household. But even with the mine reinstated he couldn’t afford more than keeping him and his horse alive – employing servants was a luxury of days past. Jud and Prudie had found work in the village, another household that could actually afford their services. Ross’ mood had been foul when he returned from the war but now that Elizabeth and Francis were irrevocably married... _Us Poldarks are prone to sudden outburst, they say._ It was just as well that he had only himself and Darkie for company and a lot of work to do to keep his mind and hands occupied. Spite was his motivation most of these days, and the prospect of a bottle of anything with enough alcohol in it to make him forget the reason for his pain.

But it was hard to forget that Elizabeth had married his cousin instead of him. Had it been someone else Ross would’ve been heartbroken – but he would’ve recovered. After all he had been assumed dead and was in no position to blame Elisabeth for finding someone to make her happy. Two years had been a long time during most of which his status had been unknown to her. But marry Francis? This was a transgression Ross could not forgive. Doubt had crept up on him at the night of the engagement party, made itself a home in his heart and ate away at him relentlessly. Because after all, Francis came with a name – much like Ross himself. The rational part of Ross’ mind told him that Elizabeth’s mother might well be involved in the process and that possibly the fault did not lie with her. But who was to say if any of Elizabeth’s words and feelings towards him had been genuine when she found it so easy to replace him with his cousin. And it looked easy for whenever Ross saw her she seemed more beautiful than before.

It would be easy enough to just avoid her and Francis if only they were moving in different circles. Yet any social event added insult to the substantial injury he had taken. Every single time Ross brought himself to attend a ball she would be there. Francis would be there – George would be there.

He hacked at the corn with a particularly sudden move. George. Ever since the last ball at the Warleggan’s house Ross had pushed every thought of their… encounter as far away as he could, drowning himself in work. It had been circumstantial, though, that much was clear – neither of them had planned it. Why would they. Ross despised George for all his schemes and dishonest ways of drawing anyone in who was desperate enough to fall for his promises. Barely anything was left of his working class origins and the very fact that George did see the needs of the simple folk and decided to take advantage of it rather than help them made Ross more furious than he could say. And he was fairly sure that this contempt was mutual.

Perhaps that was the reason why he had come so hard.

Just the thought of George panting under him with rasping breath had Ross’ lower stomach in a sudden knot. He remembered the utterly sinful sounds George tried to hold back at his command, the urgency in his moves, the feeling of… _No. Focus._ With effort, Ross tore his thoughts away from the fragments his mind continued to torture him with for four days now. Four days of hard physical work, exhausting enough to make him fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Ross had tried to barely leave himself a moment to think lest his mind jumped to what had happened behind closed doors – a train of thought his body would follow diligently. The details were scattered enough to evoke a certain anonymity rather than a unified picture, fragmenting George to a succession of look and feel and sound.

_It could’ve been anyone._

But it had been George – an insistent piece of information Ross’ mind returned to after every attempt of keeping the details in check. George Warleggan and not some stable boy. Ross furrowed his brows. He hadn’t been seduced by him, had he? George could not have been so bold to have prepared their encounter. There was no good reason for him to have _wanted_ that to happen. No, things like these were not planned in advance. It had been a surprise to both of them, must’ve been.

Ross sighed, continuing his scything in a rhythm that hopefully took his mind off things again. He should’ve just gotten himself a whore like any man in his situation would’ve done. It was not that Ross feared George would tell – he was way too clever to put himself in such a compromising state – but rather that he could not avoid him forever. Awkward tiptoeing was not one of Ross’ favourite past times but he also had no intention to ever mention that night again, least of all to George. And if they met Ross had to deal with the actual desire he might have felt towards the banker.

“Good afternoon, Ross,” a gentle female voice seeped through his thoughts and made him look up.

Ross turned around and leaned on his scythe to see Elizabeth riding towards him. Surprised, his eyes widened. A social call from her was the last thing he expected to happen, especially seeing that they hadn’t shared a word since that fateful night of the engagement party. Ross had decided not to call on her and by the time the wedding invitation had arrived his mind was made up: he would not attend and stand witness to the wedding that should have been his. That this did not gain approval from both his and her family went without saying. But Ross hadn’t cared and still did not. He didn’t have much to lose anymore, anyway.

But seeing Elizabeth riding towards him now, after months of silence, he couldn’t help but feel the residue of a feeling lost. Familiarity, love even. She looked beautiful in the golden autumn sun. Her hair was carefully braided with one broad strand tumbling down her long and slender neck, meeting the neckline of her blue riding dress. Her expression was warm and a genuine smile played around her full lips. This is what it could’ve been like, Ross thought, both of them living here at Nampara. But the ring blinking on her finger declined that notion immediately.

Married life seems to suit her, Ross thought, unable to keep the spite out of his mind.

“Elizabeth,” he said and indicated a nod that passed as barely polite, “what a surprise.”

Her smile faltered at his chilly tone. “I… I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” Ross replied, grabbed his scythe with one hand, the reins of Elizabeth’s horse with the other and led the short way back to the house with determined steps.

Trying to keep his mind as blank as possible – like he had all week – he helped her dismount with strong but restricted movements, making a point of avoiding the gaze she clearly sought. No, he wouldn’t begin this conversation with glances that only haunted him later. After he had made sure her horse was provided with water he opened the door and gestured for her to enter.

Elizabeth still smiled when she sat down on the simple wooden bench, clinging to social conventions at his reserved demeanour. “The ball at the Warleggan’s was quite a success, was it not?” she started.

“Yes, I suppose. Though I hardly know about such matters,” Ross answered and took a large gulp from the mug of water he had helped himself to.

Elizabeth laid her hands over one another and inquired, “Did you not enjoy yourself?”

“I enjoyed the whiskey,” he answered brusquely with a poisonous smile. Just when he had thought a distraction, any distraction from this evening would arrive with Elizabeth she was determined to bring it up again. Like he was cursed to think about that digression, regardless of the company he held.

If Elizabeth was offended by his rash answer it did not show. “I had hoped we could exchange a few words there…”

Ross raised an eyebrow in question. “To what end?”

“We haven’t had the chance to speak after the night of your return.” Elizabeth looked positively sad about this circumstance and it was this soft look in her eyes that made Ross snap at her.

“Because there is nothing to talk about. I thought my decline to attend the wedding was a clear sign.” His voice was harsh and cold as he threw those words at her, every syllable delivering a blow to her gentle intention.

Her eyes took on a hurt look and Ross rubbed his hands through his face. It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair.

“Elizabeth…” he said in a calmer voice, his own bitterness ringing too loudly in his ears, “you are married to Francis so do not expect me to pretend you are not. It changes everything.”

“But it doesn’t need to!” Her voice held a hint of desperation. “We can still be friends, Ross, we can spend time with each other and talk… I still hold you dear and my marriage to Francis should not come between us.”

“And yet it does. I would be most indebted to you if we did not talk of it anymore,” Ross said flatly.

Elizabeth held his gaze for a second before lowering her head to stare at her hands in defeat. “Francis sends his regards all the same.”

At least his cousin hadn’t forgotten his very existence. Ross bowed his head lightly. “Thank you.”

He had talked to Francis before the wedding – not long but long enough for both of them to feel uncomfortable. Francis had tried to console Ross and asked him for his blessing. When Ross fell silent his cousin took back the request and stuttered something so excruciatingly polite that Ross would have preferred Francis to just tell him off in no uncertain terms. Somehow they had managed to keep their conversation on a civil level but afterwards Ross hoped that Francis kept his distance for a while. And he hadn’t been disappointed yet.

Measured in tone Elizabeth went on, her voice still possessing that cadence promising underlying strength that Ross so valued. “And I know Francis would be happy to help you in your situation.”

“I don’t need help,” Ross said gruffly, his stripped down surroundings giving away his blatant lie. But whatever Elizabeth was thinking: he would not live on scraps other people threw him. Especially not his own family.

“I know you are too proud to admit it but please be assured that it would not be an act of charity,” Elizabeth said gently, “We would like to support you now that we can, financially. And you can pay us back whenever you have the means to. Francis has become quite friendly with George recently and I am sure that…”

Ross’ head darted up. “George?” he asked sharply.

“George Warleggan, yes,” Elizabeth nodded, “He asked after you, Ross, saying how much he enjoyed that you had a chance to speak and how delighted he was that you attended the ball.”

Ross clenched his jaw at her words and once more denied the details that crept up on him, gaining a clearer focus on the banker every time they were evoked. _I could tell you just how delighted he was_. How dare he talk to Elizabeth about him? And in such a provocative manner. If Ross didn’t know better he’d think this was intended to be a message to him.

Huffing in displeasure Ross shook his head. “Francis should be careful.”

“Why?” Elizabeth sounded surprised at his direct statement.

“George Warleggan is a sly banker. He draws people in, offers what he thinks people desire,” Ross hesitated a split second, remembering the dreadful suggestion the banker had made on his way out, “makes them dependent on him. Then he drags them down until there is nothing left for them.”

“Surely not Francis,” Elizabeth frowned, “They are friends.”

“Friends?” Ross echoed in disdain, surprised how any mention of George made him edgy but unable to work against it. “That is a concept foreign to George. Has he already offered to buy a decent share of Francis’ mine?”

“Well…” she hesitated, “with financial support from the Warleggan’s we would be able to expand the mine.”

Of course. It was like George to make deals like these, starting innocently enough with a bit of support among friends. But sooner rather than later he would ask to be paid back with whatever staggeringly high interest he had sneaked past the unsuspecting “friend”.

“Listen, Elizabeth,” he finally said, “I appreciate your social call but now it is clearer to me than ever that we are not conducting business or personal relations the same way. I am sure it is best for both of us if we keep a distance.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together and stood up. “As you wish. Ross,” she bowed her head and walked out of the front door before Ross could catch up with her. A moment later she mounted her horse and left his property in a fast pace.

Ross sighed deeply and rummaged around the cabinet for a bottle of brandy. The first gulp ran down his throat in fiery trails but didn’t manage to calm his scorn. How utterly careless of George to talk about that evening in such casual words. Anyone could have spotted them leaving the main event to… to meet in one of the adjacent rooms and George’s words were practically begging to be misconstrued by anyone wishing them harm. _Wishing me harm_ , Ross corrected himself and quickly downed another gulp.

And George closing in on his family didn’t sit well with Ross either. Of course it could easily be nothing to him: Francis was an adult and their businesses were separate. Whatever he decided to do to his property was his own responsibility. Ross did not owe him anything – quite the contrary, he thought grimly. Yet he did not wish him or Elizabeth harm. This was more about the utter audacity George showed. _That bloody little upstart._ His neediness towards the Poldarks during school days had apparently not disappeared in time even though it certainly took on different forms with him, Ross thought before quickly discarding the thought again. But the fact stood: Wealth did not make up for character and neither should it give permission to play with people in such a way. All those plans and shady deals… a man should be as good as his word. But apparently, no one had told George as much and neither did anyone show courage enough to put him in his place. Ross rubbed through his face again. Somehow, it was always down to him to take care of such business. With people like George it was best to cut them off before they spread their roots everywhere.

A last determined gulp and Ross placed the bottle back into the cabinet, donning his waistcoat and overcoat. Perhaps it was about time he confronted George and put an end to his sly ways, at least in his direct surroundings. And about that other matter… a rush of alcohol to his head made this decision an easy one. Once he arrived at the Warleggan’s house there was no reason not to make a real job out of it and face him. Maybe it put his troubled mind to rest once and for all. Having called on George the banker would be in the defensive and had to explain himself – and that was a narrative Ross decided he actually wanted to hear from him.


	3. The Warleggan's Mansion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross is ready to bring the fight to George.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn. As promised.

Ross barely slowed down when he rode onto the Warleggan’s property. The clatter of hooves on stone made a stable boy come running as Ross descended in a steady jump. Without a word he pressed the reins into the stable boy’s hand and walked towards the house in long strides. Another servant approached him but a hot glance from Ross made him stop in his tracks, letting the brunet storm up the stairs and into the house.

“George!” he called out, face contorted in anger. The large entrance hall was empty as far as he could see, no sign of the inhabitant.

Ross ripped his hat from his head and squashed it between his hands, half wishing it to be George’s throat. During the entire ride here his mind has been racing with different versions of how George’s and Francis’ friendship could turn out, which sort of game George could be playing. In the end it came down to Elizabeth, again: if Francis owed George too much, she would suffer. And as much as Ross welcomed a little set-back for Francis it did not change what lay at the basis of his anger – the fact that he would never be married to Elizabeth. _You could have George, though_ , a voice in his head had tempted him before he could stop himself. Not that those two possibilities were anything alike but since the ball thoughts of Elizabeth had been neatly tied to details of his intimacy with the banker. George and his surprisingly submissive nature that made Ross far too thrilled far too quickly and for a moment he had wondered whether that had been a development of the moment or a general trait.

A door opened on the corridor to his right before he had to call out louder and George Warleggan appeared in all his infuriating impeccability.

“George, I wish to speak to you immediately,” Ross barked, eager to get the first word in as the banker walked towards him with long strides.

“Ross?” George asked with a surprised look on his face. “Please do come in. What causes you to arrive in such a state?”

“You know all too well, George,” Ross spat out the words, “your involvement with my family.”

“We’ve been involved since school, if you recall.”

The brunet stared at George and said pointedly, “I do not appreciate your attempt at trivialising the matter. I will not be taken for a fool by you like Francis is.”

“Ross, please calm yourself,” George lifted his hands in a consolatory sign, “I am sure we will sort out this misunderstanding easily.”

The small smile around his lips faded before Ross could decide whether it had actually appeared.

Ross huffed in displeasure but followed George down the hall and into what looked like a private reading room. A large table stood in the middle of the room, in front of a cold fireplace, adorned with chairs whose upholstery looked utterly decadent. To the left, an equally luxurious chaise longue was placed next to a side table with several drawers. Bookcases made from dark wood occupied every wall of the room, entirely filled with beautifully bound volumes. Whereas other families had simple wooden floors the Warleggans insisted on plush carpets.

Ross threw his hat on one of the chairs and walked back to close the door behind the banker, making sure he stood in front of the exit in a demonstrative pose – George wouldn’t get out of this room before he hadn’t provided a satisfactory answer to Ross’ questions.

“I was hoping you’d call today, Ross,” George said in an animated conversational tone. The lack of acknowledgment to his obvious stance irritated Ross for a moment and it showed in his face – luckily, George was walking towards a chair and had his back to him. Well, it was his home, maybe the brunet needed to make an extra effort to clarify what exactly the subject of his visit was.

“A fine day to call on people, is it not?” Ross hissed and remained standing where he was, crossing his arms in front of his chest. To hell with niceties.

George, however, didn’t sway from his aloof demeanour. Still not facing Ross he removed his overcoat and hung it over the back of the luxuriously upholstered chair. “I am certainly glad you took it upon yourself to give me your answer personally,” he said in his quiet but pointed voice.

 _Turn around and face me_. The anger Ross had already brought with him only intensified at George’s nonsensical words and his blatant refusal to look him in the eyes.

“Elizabeth came by this afternoon,” Ross said sharply, ignoring George’s statement. Given their newly ignited friendship Ross hoped that this would spark the banker’s interest – it already took a lot of restraint to not close the distance with a few large steps and shake the truth out of George and making clear to him that Francis was not his to manipulate. Ross could almost feel George’s smooth skin under his fingers, soft and pliant when he dug into it while slamming him against the door, pushing into him frantically…

“Yes, she said she would make time for you today when we last spoke,” George’s voice tore through Ross’ memories and made him return to the situation. His pulse was thumping a bit heavier as he pushed back all thoughts of what had happened just last week. _Focus_. Ross cleared his throat discreetly and wetted his lips. George still had his back to him and for a moment Ross was relieved that he hadn’t noticed this momentary loss of composure. With a casual move George took off his waistcoat and placed it on the chair over his coat.

“Is she not one of the most charming women you have ever met,” he said and Ross could hear the fine smile before George turned around and proved his assumption right. His eyes narrowed as he took in the smug expression on the banker’s face, a clear challenge as far as he was concerned. Even without his formal gear and only dressed in breeches, half open shirt and a kerchief George gave off the unmistakable vibe of a nouveau riche boy who thought he could get away with anything.

Ross stared at George intently, his hands digging deeper into his upper arms. _Don’t touch him. You can’t tell what’ll happen_. “You stay away from her.”

George walked slowly towards him, eyes fixed on him while that damn fine smile finally disappeared to make room for an expression George surely thought was honest. The deliberate movements though provided quite the contrast - if Ross didn’t know better he would assume George was stalking him.

“My intentions towards her are entirely innocent, Ross, please be assured.” George lifted his hands in a peaceful gesture as he stopped in front of him.

Inadvertently, Ross leaned back, only to have his back supported by the door. What was it about George that made him so… so irritated? To get a hold of himself Ross scoffed in disdain and uncrossed his arms as if to signal that he was not to be put in a defensive position by George.

“I doubt your intentions are ever anything else than despicable,” he said with poison in his voice.

“And yet you decide to return.” George’s right moved to the neckline of his own shirt, taking Ross’ eyes with it. His long and slender fingers touched the knot of the kerchief and even though Ross knew he should reply to the banker’s comment somehow, he stared on as George found one end of the fabric.

“What?” Ross asked distractedly, “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, George pulled at the kerchief slowly. Ross’ eyes were drawn by the unravelling knot, one loop disintegrating after the next. The brunet gasped lightly when the fabric fell loose: purple love bites appeared, formerly carefully hidden by the kerchief.

“George…” he mumbled as the banker twisted his otherwise pale neck in a sensual movement that ended with a deep look into Ross’ eyes.

“I’m reminding you.”

Ross indeed felt reminded. Of everything. The memories, the feeling and the sounds of their encounter washed over him suddenly. What had been fragmented the days before fell into place now that George was standing in front of him, wrapping themselves around the banker and producing a unified image. There they were, the marks he had left, physical evidence of his lust, taken out on George. And how good it had felt. Ross nervously shifted his weight and tried to pry his eyes away from George’s to take another look at the love bites. The neck and the part where his throat met his shoulders were purple and Ross could almost taste the powder and perfume he knew stuck to the skin. His eyes followed the neckline of the banker’s half open shirt and suddenly, Ross realised just how undressed George already was.

George moved a tiny step closer, adding in a lower voice, “And I’m celebrating your decision.”

Decision. _My offer is a genuine one_. George’s words afterwards. Ross swallowed heavily, trying to ignore the tell-tale tingle that had started out from his lower stomach.

“I haven’t decided anything,” he said, voice too husky to be considered collected. He hadn’t even wasted one thought on George’s immoral offer. It was crazy, insane even, and Ross had told himself so.

George’s eyes lingered on Ross’ lips and his perfume made the brunet dizzy.

“In that case,” George murmured, “would you want me to help you make up your mind?”

Before he could answer George pushed his leg against Ross’ groin. The brunet breathed in shakily and couldn’t help but give a quiet moan at the sudden friction. His cock twitched and Ross just about stopped himself from moving against George’s leg. This wasn’t right, he thought, he was supposed to be angry at George. He was, that much was clear, but the tantalising pressure on his cock made it difficult to act accordingly.

“I do not want any help from you,” Ross said through gritted teeth, putting as much anger in his voice as he could. “Neither personally nor via Francis.”

Because that was the reason he was here to begin with, putting George in his place about his involvement in family matters… George’s hands stopped his train of thought short when they grasped the buttons of Ross’ waistcoat and undid them without hurry.

“I understand,” George said when the waistcoat fell open. Ross tried to breathe as evenly as he could, half his mind attempting to make sense of George’s words while the other half was reacting to his touches. _Stop him_. Rationally, Ross was well aware that this was no situation he should find himself in. But when George ran his hand along his sides, stopping at his waistband, Ross couldn’t help but give a light move into the touch. The shallow thrust made Ross’ cock rub along George’s thigh and _oh god_ … He was hard, there was no denying it. With effort Ross kept his hips from moving and his hands from grabbing George.

“Ross Poldark,” George continued casually, hands still resting on Ross’ waistband, “this is what I have always admired about you. This resilience. Strong mindedness.”

The banker’s leg moved just enough to send a flash of arousal through Ross and he groaned quietly, proving all this talk of resilience painfully wrong.

“You know what you want and won’t let anyone tinker with it.”

Ross pressed his lips together, keeping any noise inside. Those words of flattery were honest, Ross knew – but at the same time he understood how George twisted them, trying to rile him up. He couldn’t give in. George should not win this little game of his, not even with the continuous small moves that rubbed against Ross’ cock.

None of that changed the fact that whether he admitted it to himself or not, he wanted George. Here. And now.

“And right now I want answers, George,” Ross said in a last attempt of returning to his anger, to his initial mission, “how dare you drag Francis into your little schemes.”

George looked at him with a relaxed expression and slowly let his hands wander up again, lifting Ross’ overcoat from his shoulders. “I have no schemes in mind when it comes to the lovely Mr and Mrs Poldark.”

The overcoat fell to the ground with a heavy thump and Ross let it happen. _Mr and Mrs Poldark_. The very concept of these names attributed to Francis and Elizabeth had Ross’ anger in sparks.

What exactly was he trying to resist here? If Francis could just take what he wanted without regard for Ross’ feelings why shouldn’t he take what _he_ wanted and leave Francis to fend for himself. George’s hands slid under his shirt and the moment of skin touching skin presented Ross with an alternative to his miserable predicament. Not that fucking George would provide any kind of solace about the damned marriage but it would give him an outlet. No, not “would”. Had already. And it had worked. Every rub of George’s hands on his skin made the family argument less convincing and if Ross just decided he would be the one retaking control of his situation.

“We are friends who happen to conduct business together. There is no crime in that,” George continued and by this time Ross wished those hands would move a little lower, join the frustratingly small moves of the banker’s leg.

“It is not about crime, George,” he said in a voice pressed from both anger and arousal, purely arguing for the sake of it. His mind was spinning with the different implications, with thoughts of spite and regret and betrayal while George’s proximity made it more difficult to keep his hands to himself, “but about morals.”

But why should he stick to morals if everyone else was obviously playing according to their own rules? He didn’t owe Francis anything and if George was so bodily offering himself who was he to refuse? Their fuck had been good, great actually. Why should he continue to deny that knowledge if a possibility like this presented itself on a silver plate.

“I assure you,” George murmured sultrily, placing a well-calculated almost-there brush along his cock, “everyone will profit from this arrangement.”

Whether he talked about him and Francis or Ross – the brunet didn’t care. Because in the grand scheme of things George was offering himself and Ross would be damned if the idea of being desired didn’t arouse him. Not only desired by anybody, but by George Warleggan. Banker, businessman and oh so careful about his reputation, right in front of him and ready to do his bidding.

With a deliberate motion Ross let his hand glide down the door until his fingers found the key.

The deep sound of the bolts locking the door hung between them for a second. Ross felt a dark grin tug at the corners of his mouth. This was his decision, not George’s. The banker’s gaze did not falter as he continued to look at Ross’ lips, hand still barely touching his erection. Frozen like a painting for the moment the sound resonated.

“Then stop teasing and pay up your part,” Ross hissed and slowly leaned forward, sliding along George’s leg and into his hand.

He half expected George to move back, to declare everything a misunderstanding but Ross was mistaken: the banker’s hand remained where it was as he moved closer. Ross pressed his lips together at the sudden friction when George rubbed slowly over his cock.

The little gesture did it. Ross pushed himself off the door and his hands darted forward, finally not held back anymore. His left grabbed George’s side roughly and pulled him up to him while his right sunk into the perfectly styled cotton hair. With a surprised huff George followed Ross’ directions, the sound growing into a deeper groan when their erections brushed against each other. George was as hard as Ross as the brunet noticed in grim satisfaction before he pulled at George’s hair, making him bare his neck. There they were, the marks from when last they met. Ross pressed his lips on the spot where the long neck met George’s shoulder and sucked. The groan coming from George vibrated against his mouth and he moved along the smooth skin, licking and sucking his way up his throat. The banker’s hands were back under his shirt and stroked along his sides and down his stomach but what made Ross harder was the insistent grinding of George’s hips. Ross growled in arousal, every rub of George against his cock making him more eager to have the banker on his back. George’s pulse fluttered against Ross’ mouth and with the next tilt of his head the brunet reached his lips, already parted in anticipation. Without resistance Ross hungrily pushed his tongue into the other man’s mouth while his hand grabbed the shapely arse and brought them even closer together. George moaned when Ross deepened the kiss and pushed up the brunet’s shirt impatiently.

Ross let go of him long enough to shrug off his waistcoat and rid himself of his shirt, thrown carelessly to the side. A step towards him which made George and him move further into the room and Ross’ hands were back on him. The banker looked dishevelled already, heavy-lidded and flushed as his eyes lingered on Ross’ chest.

“Like what you see?” Ross asked roughly and all but ripped George’s shirt off, revealing a slim but muscular torso. _Just as smooth as the rest of him._ Not waiting for an answer Ross grabbed him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his arse, and placed his mouth over George’s right nipple. Flicking his tongue against it made George’s breath hitch, a sound so close to a whimper that Ross scraped his teeth over it.

“Ross,” the banker whimpered fully now as his fingers wound around the dark curls and his other hand reached for Ross’ cock.

“Don’t,” Ross commanded deeply against his skin. His erection was dying to be touched but Ross didn’t want George to determine the pace. George would feel his cock alright but on his terms – like the other night when he had moved under Ross in just the way the brunet wanted. In immediate obedience George stopped his gesture and precisely this sudden bout of power jolted hotly through Ross. _How compliant still, even at the smallest command._ Ross grabbed the banker by his waistband and pulled him closer again, roughly undoing the breeches with both hands. George’s erection was a clear outline on the fabric and this visible proof of his desire for Ross convinced the brunet even more of his decision. Oh, how he would enjoy taking George right here in his private smoking room, making him cry out his pleasure.

Ross’ hands slid down George’s flat stomach and pushed the breeches down but did not yet touch his cock. Instead, he moved over the pointed bone of his hip to his arse, grabbing it while he continued to press George against him. The other man groaned and the blue grey of his eyes seemed glazed over with lust when he steadied himself against Ross’ shoulder with his left. George was so loud, every stroke of Ross’ hand trailing sounds in its wake that spurred him on to make quicker work of things. The brunet stretched his neck and sucked at the base of George’s throat when the banker involuntarily bucked his hips. Oil, they needed oil or whatever George had conjured up last time. George’s cock brushing against his clothed erection teased Ross when the other man took his right still grabbing his arse and guided his fingers between his cheeks.

“You’re prepared,” Ross huffed in surprise when he rubbed over George’s slick entrance, causing the banker to give another gasp and hold on to his shoulder a little tighter.

“For you,” George’s voice rasped as he moved lightly to gain more friction from Ross’ hand. The shameless and utterly indecent nature of the act nearly drowned out the thought that had just sneaked up upon Ross.

Yet his eyes narrowed and his voice darkened. “You planned this, you little…”

For their entire conversation George had been ready for him, all but waiting for Ross to bend him over and have his way with him. The thought ran hotly through the brunet – the preparation spoke of George’s need and desire, of just how badly he wanted him. But also of a fixed plan according to which Ross was acting unknowingly.

With an angry growl Ross’ free hand darted out and grabbed a fistful of George’s hair, crashing their mouths together. But instead of the kiss George’s parted lips anticipated Ross caught his lower lip and bit down. Not sharp enough to draw blood but George gasped into his mouth all the same.

George had played him, seduced him. This was not what he had intended. The significance of George’s earlier mentioning of Elizabeth visiting him made sense now but Ross was mostly angry at himself for not seeing through this devious plan George had no doubt constructed to lure him in. What made him even angrier was the alluring eagerness George showed with every move – and that he couldn’t help but fall for it.

Dragging his teeth over the banker’s lower lip Ross slipped a finger easily into George’s prepared body, drawing a low groan from him. God, those sounds…

Ross let go of George’s mouth and looked into his eyes.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked roughly, moving his finger and observed with delight how George’s eyes fell shut for a second and he tried to catch his breath.

“I was hoping...” he answered shakily, clawing at Ross’ shoulder in an attempt to support himself. “I wanted to be ready for you, Ross… so you could take me as you like…” He bit his lower lip as he looked at Ross from under his long lashes.

George’s self-determination joined forces with this submissive tone and drew Ross in, sending a sudden wave of arousal through him. George knew him, and as furious as Ross felt about this plain demonstration of it, the thought was surprisingly intriguing, too. George wanted to cater to him, to make sure Ross got what he wanted. The thought of _George_ carrying out his demands stuck seductively in Ross’ mind.

With a smooth movement Ross’ finger slipped out of George, drawing a frustrated whimper from him. Before he had a chance to react the brunet grabbed him roughly, making him walk backwards as fast as his restrained legs allowed him. George stumbled slightly but Ross held him in a tight grip, pushing him against the big table in the middle of the room.

Fairly sure that George had also prepared another detail Ross pushed his hand into the banker’s pocket. His fingers closed around a vial which he placed on the table’s surface before grabbing George, spinning him around and pressing him against the table. The banker followed obediently as Ross pushed George’s breeches further down, running his hands along the smooth back and pressing his erection against his bare backside. Without any word from Ross he spread his legs and moaned low while grabbing the side of the table.

Ross made quick work of his own breeches. He grabbed the vial and poured the liquid into his palm, stroking himself a few times to take the edge off. Having George almost sprawled in front of him was a sight he never knew could arouse him that much. Biting his lip he tried to hold back a deep groan when he pushed into his slick hand, the other hand firmly placed on George’s hip.

Another helping of lube and Ross turned his attention back on George. Without any preamble he pushed his index finger into him, shortly followed by the middle finger. The noise coming from George was a delicious mixture of breathy gasping and a low sound that seemed to reverberate through the banker’s body. George grabbed the table harder, leaning over it and supporting himself on his arms when he pushed against Ross’ moving fingers.

“Did you enjoy fingering yourself open for me?” Ross asked and moved his fingers in and out of George in slow movements, mirroring his words.

“Yes…” George whispered huskily, his hair sticking to his sweaty neck, “oh god yes…”

The need in George’s voice struck a chord in Ross and he couldn’t stop the string of words coming over his lips.

“I can just imagine you doing yourself, how you spread your legs and stretch yourself for my cock…” he leaned over George’s back and whispered into his ear, “squatting on your bed, trying to keep it down. Isn’t that just difficult for you, George?”

The use of George’s first name signed the deal. This wasn’t an anonymous hook-up anymore like Ross had pretended the other night – he was fucking George Warleggan, the snobby banker so used to oppose him.

By way of answering George gave a choked gasp when Ross’ fingers brushed over his prostate. His arms quivered and Ross wound his left around George’s torso, pulling him into an upright position.

“You’re such a loud little whore. You don’t want anyone to come in and catch you, do you? All the servants you have wandering around those halls…” A brush over his nipple while his fingers opened George up further and Ross made his voice sound deliberately rough, “Did you hold back, George? Or did you come all over yourself?”

George’s fingers dug desperately into Ross arm around his chest as he tried to answer between the stifled sounds forcing their way out of his throat.

“No… I just… just prepared.”

“Good,” Ross answered, his own words arousing him as much as George’s perfect answer, “I like you needy like that.”

In a sudden move Ross withdrew his fingers from George and grasped his sides, shoving him over to the chaise longue next to the bookcase. George let Ross take over his body without restraint. His lips red from Ross’ biting kisses and his pupils blown with lust he moved according to Ross’ guidance. And Ross wanted him on his back. Now that he wasn’t fucking anyone but _George_ he wanted to see his face, watch him as he came on his cock.

Ross pushed the other man down on the upholstery. George’s left hand darted out to pull him in but the brunet grasped his wrist and pinned it next to the banker’s head on the cushion.

“Ross,” George drawled, his hips moving without his consent, “please, I’m so… I need…”

George had not yet finished his sentence, his _begging_ , when Ross leaned over him and claimed his mouth. The hand not pinning George’s arm down ran along the banker’s throat as he pushed into him with one smooth move. Ross gasped at the friction and the feeling of George around him, hot and slick and ready for him. George, however, all but shouted into Ross’ mouth. His legs spread further and his free hand grabbed Ross by the neck. The brunet pushed his tongue into George’s mouth, licking messily and driven with need. The thrusts of his hips were fast and deep and every push made Ross dizzier with lust. George felt so incredibly good under him, all flowery perfume gone. What was left was the smell of fresh sweat and George’s own scent that filled Ross’ nostrils. He broke the kiss and ran his free hand over George’s sides along his smooth thigh, keeping up his fast pace. The banker squirmed under him with ragged breaths, looking positively wrecked – a sight that made Ross give a low groan – but when Ross’ arm moved under George’s knee and lifted up his leg he threw back his head in pleasure. Ross’ hips had taken on a life of their own and his fingers dug into George’s thigh as he continued to pound into him, grazing his prostate with every stroke now. Incoherent sounds stumbled over George’s lips and the hand not pinned down by Ross jumped to his erection. His long elegant fingers wrapped themselves around his hard cock, head glinting with pre-come, stroking fast.

“Look at me,” Ross growled as he felt his own orgasm approaching. The banker moaned at another hard thrust from Ross, perfectly timed with a flick of his wrist, and fixed his eyes back on him with effort.

“Ross,” he drawled, “yes…”

“Look at me when you come, George,” Ross rumbled, the other man’s first name prompting him to make the next thrust deep.

George’s eyes fluttered shut only to be opened again when he adhered to Ross’ command, looking at him with a glazed gaze. His hair was entirely in disarray, his lips red and dry, and his chest was heaving in short breaths while his hand worked intently between his legs. The hand Ross was still pinning down had grabbed the cushion in a tight grip and every strained move George made spoke of how far gone he was. Ross lifted the banker’s leg higher and when he hit his prostrate once again George tightened around him in quivering shudders. Ross groaned deeply when George’s eyes bore into his as the banker came, his hips bucking into his hand and onto Ross’ cock. He spilled over his fingers in thick spurts as the brunet fucked him through his orgasm. Ross’ breath was coming short when George tightened around him, still struggling to stare at him but complying all the same.

“Ross…” George moaned and with the next deep thrust Ross’ orgasm hit with blinding force. He groaned, grabbing George’s thigh tighter as he spilled hotly into the other man. His hips were snapping erratically, the grey blue eyes holding his gaze making him gasp out George’s name among sounds of pleasure. His head darted forward and he bit the spot where George’s neck met his shoulder as he rode out his orgasm. The other man shuddered under him, lips still moving in gasps and moans, the muscles in his thigh twitching under Ross’ hand. Ross breathed in the heady smell of lust and licked over George’s salty skin with the last messy thrusts, the banker’s cock trapped between them and smearing his stomach.

Ross’ pulse was thumping hard. The heat George’s firm body gave off under him seemed to burn through his skin. With a soft grunt against George’s sweaty neck Ross let go of his thigh. His hand around George’s wrist loosened its grip as he braced himself on his arms, sliding out of him with a coarse huff. Ross let himself fall on the far end of the chaise longue, thankful that the backrest steadied him while he tried to catch his breath. His chest was heaving as he stared into the room without registering anything apart from his sweaty body and the unmistakable signs of their pleasure on his skin. To his side George stirred, pushing himself into a somewhat sitting position.

“Side table, lower drawer,” George murmured and indicated the furniture in question.

Ross opened the drawer, finding in it an assortment of different handkerchiefs. George had been so very well prepared for this from the moment he had rushed into the house – but all that followed had been his own decision, Ross thought, relaxation beginning to take over. There was no point in not taking further advantage. He picked a crème-coloured handkerchief and threw another one on the chaise longue between them before he started to clean himself up.

George didn’t take the offered handkerchief but stayed like he was. Lounging about in his nakedness for a moment longer the banker only moved when Ross had already fastened his breeches again.

“We’ll keep this to private surroundings,” Ross said gruffly in answer to the deal George had proposed, “I doubt that any of us would profit from these news making the rounds.”

George nodded, his voice still a little husky. “My father certainly would not appreciate it.”

Ross wasn’t entirely sure whether George’s tone held a hint of apprehensiveness. But what did it matter, really. As long as they kept it private they had nothing to fear. _I have no reputation to lose anyway._

“I will call on you and send word on where to meet,” Ross went on as he buttoned up his waistcoat.

“And Francis?” George asked, dressed in breeches and casually picking up his shirt from the floor.

“Francis is a man grown and no boy anymore,” the brunet said sharply, what little concern he had had for his cousin forgotten, “He can decide for himself. Try not to ruin him entirely if you find it feasible.”

George tilted his head in acquiescence. “Very well.”

A smoothing move down the sides of his overcoat and Ross walked over to the door, barely throwing a glance at George who was still busying himself with his waistcoat.

“I’ll find the way out by myself,” Ross said before George could offer to escort him.

He unlocked the door and pressed down the heavy door handle and the banker’s soft voice followed him down the hall.

“I shall look forward to your message.”

 

 


	4. The Servant Bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's have a look at how things appear from George's perspective, shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to say thank you to all you lovely people who had such nice things to say about this story. You're very kind and I'm very happy to be on this mini-ship :)  
> Enjoy the next instalment of ~~gratuitous~~ very necessary smut!

Their newfound arrangement was nothing Ross had to think through after he had left George – his mind had been made up from the moment George had offered himself so bodily. His reasoning still stood, even when he returned to his house and washed away the physical evidence of their shared pleasure. Indeed his meeting with George had set his mind more at ease than he had thought. Now that Ross had cleared up all the confusing thoughts their encounter at the ball had stirred up he felt a lot better – he did not yet have a name for this new status quo but it was a clear concept he could grasp and work with. The only question that remained was the frequency in which they would meet.

This factor was decided by a sudden rush of curiosity on Ross’ part two days later. He was done with the work he had set out to do in the morning and as he helped himself to a simple breakfast his thoughts wandered to George. It was strange between them, always had been. During school days George had been somewhat of a quiet admirer of Ross. He had known that but preferred to keep his distance – largely due to the fact that he simply did not like George. It had nothing to do with his humble origins but rather with his character. Almost everything he did went against Ross’ ideas, starting at his tendency to ruin his fellow students at the card table and extending to his cool exterior. They had nothing in common but maintained a civil level of conversation which became their normal behaviour around each other.

During Ross’ time in America George had done well for himself. That in itself was no surprise for Ross. What caught him unaware, however, was the banker’s demeanour. He seemed smoother, somehow more apt in business matters and with this more… cunning. Ross couldn’t exactly pinpoint the difference but that didn’t stop him from further despising George. One thing was clearer than before: George’s presence as such certainly held no appeal for Ross unless the banker was hard and greedy for his touches. A state which Ross could achieve with a single letter, instructing him to be prepared for his visit in the afternoon. How very interesting that he bowed to him of all people, Ross thought as he put away the dishes and got out a sheet of paper. The thought of having George adhere to his written command was certainly an intriguing one. Before he could change his mind he jotted down a few sentences and slipped the letter in an envelope addressed to George.

On his way to the mine he stopped by his tenants and sent Jim to deliver his letter, a feeling of self-determination flowing through him. He didn’t need an incident as an incentive to call on George – a simple decision on his part was enough. George would neither know nor care why Ross decided to write that letter and simply await him. If the banker decided to stick to his word.

Turned out he did. After having checked in on the mine Ross rode to the Warleggan’s house, fairly sure that George had taken care of all necessities and indeed he was not disappointed. He was rough with George, as rough as the first two times but during this encounter Ross truly relished having the banker move under him. They barely exchanged a word as George led him to his bedchamber – they both knew this was a far cry from a social call and the secrecy of it filled Ross with anticipation. George remained quiet until the door was shut behind them and only gave him the fleeting glimpse of a fine smile, enough to spark the irritation about the banker that never quite left Ross. And that made George’s following submission all the more arousing. Ross stripped him roughly off his garments and bit more than he kissed, his hands grabbing at George who obediently followed all his leads.

What had started last time when he had gotten off on the idea of George only intensified now that he had come here without an immediate incident that had provoked his anger. He was here because he wanted George and while Elizabeth never quite left his mind Ross managed to forget about her when he pinned the other man onto the mattress. Deep and hard thrusts made George cry out his pleasure into the pillow, the gasped sounds making their way directly to Ross’ cock, and before long the brunet spilled hotly into him, flush with power and still in control. As long as the door was shut their roles were clearly distributed and Ross left without another word or glance at the banker. Seeing him revert to his usual demeanour would only cheapen the experience he just had and Ross was determined to leave on a high.

What they were doing was so very far from all the simple plans the rest of the upper class busied themselves with. Marriages, succession, business – his arrangement with George had no such aim and thereby operated entirely out of any known system. And seeing the banker entirely debauched and oh so far away from his cool appearance ticked something off in Ross.

After that, calling on George became easy. Ross made a habit of meeting him once or twice a week as his work allowed. To keep the chance of rumours as low as possible they usually arranged the next meeting at the end of the current one. Letters, however innocently phrased, were too suspicious if anyone cared to take a second look. When they met at the Warleggan’s George’s family was out in town, giving them the possibility to use George’s own bedroom. Ross enjoyed this transgression into George’s private life more than he would admit. He could only suspect what the banker did between those sheets when he was not there but making George cater to him on his own bed gave it all an additional twist for Ross. When they met at his house, however, Ross was determined to keep George as far away from his own bedchamber as possible. He opted for using the second bedroom Jud and Prudie used to sleep in and even there he had George against the wall and standing up a few times before fucking him on the bed. Their encounters were differing in intensity, usually influenced by Ross’ mood, but always rough.

Of course it was questionable to say the least – Ross was very well aware of it but continued to cling to the idea that George had suggested it in the first place, taking most of the blame. He was merely taking advantage of what he was offered; a trait he had so painfully learned from Francis. Aside from the obvious pleasure he gained from it this was the one part of his life Ross had control over. And he was determined to make it count.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

George followed Ross down the corridor and into the adjacent bedroom. They had exchanged a few words of greeting and after George had politely declined a drink they moved into what the banker assumed had been the servant bedroom. Upon their first meeting he had felt nearly offended, thinking that Ross intended to remind him of his simple background. But on second thought Ross did not thrive on such things, never had. And truth be told the location made their arrangement all the more sinister.

The fact that there _was_ an arrangement pleased George on more than just a physical level. With Ross it wasn’t just the actual act but everything else that went with it: the secrecy, the submission he asked, the knowledge that Ross wanted him as much as he had desired him for a long time. Of course theirs was no arrangement that spoke of mutual appreciation or could be used to secure a business connection but this was not what George was after to begin with. His yearning for Ross had been physical, yes, but his agreement was worth so much more than that. It meant that he had surrendered to George despite being the dominant part.

It had been a surprise to George to see Ross return from America at all. His friendship towards Francis and Elizabeth had grown in Ross’ absence – well, friendship was perhaps too strong a word for it. George did like the by now married couple well enough and was a frequent guest in their house and vice versa. But at the core of his attention on them lay a business interest. Their hospitality made it easier for George to further business matters, gain influence in the established upper class and even enjoy himself to a certain extent along the way. It certainly was no hardship to play cards with Francis or dance with Elizabeth. Being Francis’ best man at the wedding had also come in favourably. His father supported his choice of friends wholeheartedly and now it even served his purpose concerning Ross.

Which surprise when he had returned from America in moderate health and with a commission in the army. George had kept his distance at first, gaining most of his information via Elizabeth and Francis who had proved to be the perfect sources. Much had been going on in the Poldark household and George had the chance to collect news quietly, mapping out the power balance and finding out how to go about his plan. Now was his chance to seduce Ross in a number of ways and bind him to him – something he should have done back in school days already. Needless to say that Warleggan Senior would not approve of _those_ sort of relations but George had no intention of him, or anyone else for that matter, to become aware of it.

All his plans had led him to his house, to this moment before Ross would take him and find pleasure, a pleasure George intended to fuel further. Which was why he had brought the kerchief. A harmless prop as such though it was difficult to tell what Ross would think of it. So far their encounters hadn’t had any adornments and George was curious. Aside from the fact that he found the very idea of Ross tying him up arousing George also wanted to test him. See which way their arrangement could develop to remain exciting and how open Ross was to suggestions from the banker’s side. And test the water whether he would come up with own ideas in time.

So far, Ross had responded to his tactics very well and both their reputations remained intact. Even Elizabeth had played her part perfectly, if unknowingly, in sending him directly into the situation George had imagined many a time. With every following meeting he felt more convinced that Ross was truly caught up in the habit of their arrangement by now. He didn’t need a trigger to call on George and if that changed the banker was fairly sure that reminding him of Elizabeth would do the trick alright for a while. And by the time that argument lost impact George would have Ross all but addicted to him.

George smiled as he passed the by now well-known wooden door of the servant bedroom, running his finger along the silk kerchief in his pocket. Already he felt his pulse quicken at the thought of Ross incorporating it and using it on him in whichever way he saw fit.

Ross walked over to a chair next to the left side of the bed, disposing of his boots and waistcoat. It always happened like this, the brunet undressing with his back to George while he took off his own garment on the other side of the room, placing his clothes on a similar chair next to the mattress. Not that the banker minded this open anonymity. This moment was always the most fragile of the entire situation, the strange instant of knowing what would happen before it actually happened.

Besides, George quite frankly enjoyed the view while he busied himself with his own boots and unbuttoned his jacket and waistcoat, putting them on the chair carefully. Ross’ muscles moved smoothly under the skin when he took off his shirt in quick and deliberate movements, broad shoulders giving way to a slim waist and narrow hips that exemplified the strength in his torso. And that was the very factor why George had always had a weakness for Ross’ physique. They were so differently built and the combination of his physical strength with the dominance in character that seemed to come so naturally to him… When with a woman, George enjoyed being the leading part, asking his whores to address him as “Sir” and being in charge of what happened. With Ross, however, George got off on submitting to him in the privacy of the bedroom. The brunet had never been one to bow to anyone – one of the many qualities George admired about him – and actively helping him to establish that circumstance further was a turn-on beyond measure. George did not want to see Ross in a submissive position; the special appeal was his dominance and the fickle yet clear power relations in their arrangement.

George barely drew his eyes from Ross’ broad back when he undid his kerchief and took off his shirt and placed it neatly onto his other garments. The rough nature of their encounters showed on George’s skin in the form of handprints and hickeys. Ross’ intensity when he took him in the way he felt right was exactly what George wanted. Especially the few times Ross had _talked_ were of memorable quality for George, whether it were cascades of filthy expressions falling from Ross’ sensual lips or just a whispered command in the right moment. The primal energy of the silent fucks was incredible but his rough voice talking to him in such indecent words had George on edge in no time.

At the core of it there was a simple truth: the more Ross proved his dominance the more George enjoyed it, feeding off it long after they had both come and were trying to catch their breaths.

And the lilac silk kerchief might just be the right prop to nudge Ross into the right direction.

On the other side of the bed Ross had rid himself of his clothes entirely, most of his back still to George. The banker’s eyes travelled over the muscles in his shoulders and down his back to the curve of the well-shaped arse and he felt his cock harden at the sight.

In a fluent turn Ross faced George and caught the banker’s lingering eyes. George didn’t manage to escape the brunet’s gaze as something changed in him, like it always did. George had noticed that recently – Ross’ expression gained a wicked edge and his movements became smoother in an almost stalking way when he closed in on him.

“You’re still dressed,” Ross murmured and placed a hungry kiss on the side of George’s throat. The banker swallowed heavily at the rumbling words. _Dressed_ was definitely an overstatement, seeing that he was wearing nothing but his breeches. Ross’ scruff scratched over his skin as his hands grabbed George by the waistband of his breeches, undoing them quickly and brushing over his cock. George moaned lightly and shoved his right into his pocket, fingers closing around the silk kerchief and taking it out.

Ross let go of the half-stripped breeches and instead placed his right on George’s arse to keep him close when his left grabbed the banker’s wrist.

“What have you got in your hand?”

By way of answering George lifted his hand with Ross’ fingers wrapped around his wrist and held the end of the kerchief between two fingers. The silky fabric uncurled with a quiet rustling, shimmering in the dim light of the bedroom.

He could see Ross’ eyes widen for a second before his tongue darted out and wetted his lips. _I knew you’d like that_. Ross reached for the narrow silk band, letting it glide through his fingers.

“If you feel inspired,” George said in a breathy voice to further the ideas that were hopefully racing around Ross’ head by now and let go of the kerchief. There were a number of things George himself could imagine but whether it were to be blindfolding, gagging, tying up or even choking he could not say. Either way his mind was already reeling with anticipation.

Ross took the kerchief in both hands, starting to wind it around his right hand slowly. George’s eyes followed the slim trail of fabric move across his coarse palm, over his wrist and halfway up his broad forearm until Ross tucked the end under so it wouldn’t slip. Still a fair length remained unwound and fell loose.

“We’ll see about that,” the brunet said in a low voice, a curious expression crawling into his eyes.

No chance to decode the glint in Ross’ gaze George felt himself pulled forward, a hand grabbing his neck and fingers carding through his hair. His heart jumped into his throat at the sudden move when Ross’ hot lips pressed on his mouth in clear demand. George opened his mouth instantly for the other man’s tongue that licked along his in a warm and wet swipe. A low sigh escaped his throat and the grip in his neck tightened, making it clear to George that he was kept in place by Ross and Ross alone – a circumstance he wouldn’t trade for anything.

George’s right darted out to rest on the brunet’s side while his left dared rub over the slim stomach. Those were the touches Ross would allow and despite the fact that George wanted to run his hand further down the trail of coarse hair, to suck the cock flush with arousal into his mouth, it was Ross to set the pace. His hands cupped the banker’s arse over his breeches and kissed him hungrily, sending a wave of shivers through George. He moaned when his nose picked up the smell of freshly cut corn and something else, something dark and seductive adding to the soft texture of Ross’ lips and the intensity of the kiss. Ross could take everything from him if he so wished – and George was more than willing to give.

He gasped into his mouth with a wanton sound as Ross’ erection slid along his still clothed cock in a single, frustratingly drawn-out move. The brunet’s warm tongue mirrored the movement of his hips and rubbed along George’s in an equally slow, teasing swipe. It could’ve been a lover’s kiss if it weren’t for the firm grip in his neck, keeping him in check.

When the brunet’s erection pressed against his own George couldn’t stop his hips from returning the motion. A growl and Ross broke the kiss, that sound that seemed to come from his very core, a low version of the gravelly sound he made when he spilled into George. But that feeling was still so maddeningly far away and Ross held him firmly in place, right hand moving from his arse to touch his shoulder. The dark green eyes captivated him, staring, when something smooth and almost cool tickled the banker’s heated skin. George swallowed dryly as Ross brushed his hand along his collarbone, a lilac shadow adorning the brunet’s palm and forearm. _The kerchief._

“Ross,” another attempt at swallowing but in that moment Ross’ hand moved on and down George’s naked chest. The silk rubbed over his nipple smoothly and an instant later Ross’ coarse fingers stroked over it, catching it between his fingers. The quick pinch made George gasp - the light teasing and the damn breeches still keeping him from feeling Ross fuelled his mind. If only Ross were to strip him, now, touch his cock and take him against the damn wall or on the bed or _wherever_ …

But Ross paid his thoughts no mind even thought the knowing smirk told George that he was well aware of the state he was in. Ross’ right moved down his torso without haste and George couldn’t help but moan when the silky fabric slid over his lower stomach, his muscles quivering at the touch. Just a little deeper… his hips moved slightly but before Ross’ hand could run under the waistband of his breeches he grabbed George’s hips with both hands. The banker gave a huff and felt himself pushed against the bedpost in a fast move, his hands losing their grip on Ross and darting out for balance.

Ross’ left pressed against the centre of his chest, keeping him in place. His eyes bore into George’s and he growled, “Rid yourself of your breeches.”

The command ran hotly through George and he adhered immediately. With shaking fingers he pushed down the breeches and stripped himself while Ross reached for the open vial on the nightstand. The banker’s breath hitched – the fluid felt chilly when Ross dribbled a few drops on his exposed skin and a moment later a warm hand wrapped around his cock tightly.

“Ross,” George panted, the name disappearing in a surprised moan at the unexpected pressure. Ross’ grip was much tighter than the one he used on himself, but it felt so _good_ to finally have a hand on his erection. His hips bucked when Ross stroked his cock slowly, his left keeping him pinned to the bedpost.

This hadn’t been one of George’s ideas about Ross using the kerchief but he _definitely_ liked it. The narrow band of silk felt smooth and so very soft on his skin, sliding easily and turning slightly translucent from the lube. Ross’ hands and fingers provided the opposite sensation – skin rough from working outside, dry and coarse and blending in so wonderfully with the silk. George groaned out in pleasure and Ross pressed another lingering kiss on his lips, whether to silence him or tease him further the banker couldn’t say, while his fingers danced expertly over his cock. Ross’ taste lingered in the banker’s mouth as he greedily returned the kiss, following the other man’s mouth when he pulled back.

George gasped at the loss, craving another kiss but Ross’ insistent gaze kept him at bay, giving a clear order. The banker’s pulse gave a jump and he lowered his eyes in unspoken surrender but still a stifled gasp escaped him when Ross picked up the pace of his jerks. On instinct George kept his eyes down but ran his right along Ross’ arm still holding him stuck to the post, over the sinews and up the side of his neck. The wild curls wound around his fingers as he lightly grasped a fist full of the dark hair, desperate to touch him but keeping his other hand wrapped around the bedpost in his back.  

Bowing his head George not only felt but also saw Ross’ movements – watched his hand move along his cock, saw the kerchief wrapped around the palm and the long fingers working his erection with skill and thumbing over the head with every other move now; each one ripped another moan from George’s dry lips. Low in his stomach he could already feel his orgasm building, the narrow silk band adding an intoxicating flash of pleasure with every stroke.

“Please, Ross,” the banker moaned in arousal, need ringing in his voice. Ross only growled in response and gave his cock another stroke with a rub over the slit, slick with pre-come and lube.

George bucked into the tight ring of Ross’ fingers impatiently, the thought that he didn’t want to come like this losing importance by the second. His body was so tense with arousal, coated in a thin layer of sweat and before George could stop himself his hand let go of the bedpost and darted out to place itself on the small of Ross’ back, pulling him closer.

In the back of his mind he knew he was taking liberties he may not be entitled to but he just _had_ to have more contact than just this restricted and yet so very arousing touch of Ross’ hand. God, he needed _more_ , wanted the brunet to kiss and bite and fuck him but the hand holding George pinned to the bedpost didn’t ease up. He was getting close, his hips moving ceaselessly and he looked up again just in time to see Ross’ fine smile.

 _What…?_ George whined in frustration when the meaning of that smile became apparent: Ross’ hand slowed down its movements gradually when all George needed were a few more strokes, another rub over the head and… His breath caught in his throat and he tried to work against it with harder thrusts of his hips but Ross didn’t let him – every stroke anticipated George’s plan and brought him back from the edge so very slowly.

“Not yet,” Ross’ rough voice made him shiver, “You don’t want to spoil my other plans for you, do you, George?”

The banker’s heart beat hectically against his chest when he whimpered at the cruel withholding and the tantalising promise. The part of George’s mind that had come up with the kerchief idea celebrated the effect it had on Ross – exactly what he had wanted to achieve – but the excess material of the kerchief brushed over his thighs and testicles in arousing lightness and at the next slow stroke George couldn’t help himself: greedily, he pulled Ross closer and stretched his neck to kiss the base of his throat. Ross’ arm still held him at a certain distance but George’s lips sucked at the salty skin, his hand stroking over the firm arse. Driven by need his mouth moved up Ross’ throat in sloppy kisses, the stubble scratching sharply against his lips and tongue. When he was just a centimetre away from Ross’ mouth the brunet suddenly tightened his arm and pushed George back against the bedpost. _No_ … The banker huffed in surprise and his arms moved on instinct, grabbing what they could of Ross. Before his fingers could so much as touch bare skin the brunet’s fingers left his cock and both hands closed around his wrists.

George gasped audibly at the loss of friction and the sudden pressure on his arms, his mind taking a second longer to catch up on what had happened.

“Aren’t you greedy today,” Ross growled, digging his fingers into the skin and forcing George’s hands onto his back.

The brunet stood close to him, almost threatening in his posture, his dark eyes fixed on George. The scar on the side of his face made the gaze appear more intense even though it was party covered by a few stray curls. Ross’ voice was rough with arousal, his cheeks heated and the pupils blown yet still he was in control – of himself and of George.

“Ross, I…” the banker whimpered, his body shaking from arousal and the right kind of pressure on the wrong parts, “I need…”

“You _need_ to kneel on the bed, George,” Ross whispered hotly into his ear, his mouth brushing against it, “face the headboard and sit back on your heels.”

That brusque voice ordering him about almost did more to George than the touches before. The clear authority, the deep rumble… He nodded, licking his lips and climbed onto the bed, assuming the position Ross had described. His cock was hard and heavy still and George grabbed the sheets next to his knees – even though Ross hadn’t told him it was clear that he was not to touch himself. He spread his legs further, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, to make sure he wouldn’t come at the first contact of Ross’ skin against his.

The mattress moved but George didn’t dare look over his shoulder when Ross knelt down behind him. Instead, he kept his eyes on the dark wood of the bed’s headboard, anything to keep himself from acting on his desire. The sweet torture of holding back travelled through his entire body, all nerves on edge and anticipating to be touched – but just a gush of hot breath washed over George’s neck when all he wanted was for Ross to take him, _now_ …

Then, Ross’ curls tickled him lightly and his lips hit his neck, slowly dragging along the side of his throat. George whimpered at the minimalist touch. No teasing, no suction – just the feeling on his skin together with the anticipation of a lick that wouldn’t come. He tilted his head to the side as his imagination filled in what his eyes couldn’t deliver; the image of Ross’ red lips moving on his own pale skin, his eyes sensually closed while his hands still did not touch him.

“Put your hands on your back,” Ross murmured close to his ear.

George shifted on his knees and placed his hands low on his back with the fingers outstretched. His shoulders followed the movement so his back arched slightly while his legs spread to support his weight. The position was one of service, the clear implication teasing George as he bowed his head obediently in anticipation of what was to happen.

The next moment the silk band was slung around his wrists, cool and slightly sticky. A tug, a rustling and the fabric tightened to pull his hands closer together. George’s breathing quickened. It wasn’t only what would come next that excited him but also this deliberate ritual of him surrendering to Ross. The brunet led the kerchief between his hands and around his wrists a second time before a few further pulls indicated the fastening of a knot. Here he was, George thought and wetted his lips, tied up and Ross’ to have.

The warm hands left George’s wrists and a fluttering kiss between his shoulder blade sent a shiver down his back – he had thought Ross would twist his arms upwards, bite at his skin like he always did but this soft contact almost made George lose it. A stifled groan came from his lips, half begging, half enjoying this when Ross cupped his arse. George moved into the touch and without a second thought he spread his legs further because _please, Ross..._ This was exactly the side of Ross he had wanted to bring forth, but _god_ , he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it.

Ross’ hands stroked over his arse when he slipped a finger between his cheeks. The motion was quick, a fast rub across George’s slick entrance to check whether he was prepared (he was. He always was.), but the banker let out a low groan all the same when Ross’ growl joined in. Despite his dishevelled state George allowed himself a small smile – the appeal of him being prepared never failed to excite Ross and even though he couldn’t see his face he knew exactly how his eyes took on that hungry look and his lips parted.

The hands on his arse vanished and Ross suddenly gripped his hips tightly, his cock nudging against George’s entrance. The banker’s pulse thumped hard at the blunt feeling, his cock twitched and before the impatient whimper had fully left George’s lips Ross pushed into him with a long and deep thrust.

“God, Ross,” he choked, nearly toppling over at the sensation when one of Ross’ hands grabbed the kerchief and pulled him towards him. His shoulders hit Ross’ chest and George threw back his head with a groan, the brunet’s stubble scratching along his neck and cheek. Leaning back onto the strong body behind him George’s hips followed the move and even though the silk restraint cut into his skin he barely noticed – all he could feel was Ross’ cock filling, stretching and fucking him like the good servant he was.

Yet the anticipated second thrust didn’t come. An irritated moan stumbled over George’s lips, sweat ran down his temple. Surely Ross was just messing with him, setting a slightly different pace to keep him on edge. But George had no way of telling; he could only _feel_ Ross but not see him and that made for an intensity that sent his body and mind reeling.

“Ross,” George gasped impatiently, the other man’s cock still remaining motionless inside him. He struggled against the kerchief around his wrists and tried to move back, desperate for friction, but Ross held his hips in a tight grip. His handsome face was surely twisted into a dark smile while his eyes drank up the need in George’s expression.

“Look at you, George,” Ross growled as his right hand let go of his hip and pulled lightly at the kerchief, “all restrained and dependent.”

A slow and shallow thrust that had George’s pulse race up, Ross’ voice rough from arousal sending shivers along his skin as he listened to him, whimpering at the truth of it and just so damn on edge to think clearly…

“Please, Ross,” George moaned, painfully aware of ever little move and twitch of Ross’ cock inside him that only teased him further, not giving even the slightest release, “move…”

Ross’ right appeared in George’s line of vision and stroked over the inside of his thigh while his left held him still firmly in place. The long fingers brushed over his skin in tantalising slowness, _almost_ touching his cock… George’s moan caught in his throat at the anticipation of Ross’ grip around his erection, but the fingers moved on _, no, please_ , over his hipbone and along the curve of his middle.

“Don’t worry, George,” Ross leaned closer so that his lips brushed against the banker’s neck, the muscles twitching hectically as he whimpered, “you’ll come alright. But without a hand on your cock.”

George gasped out in frustration when Ross gave another shallow thrust, his cock moving inside him but just not deep enough, not fast enough, “Oh… please…”

George felt like he couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed against the kerchief, eager to free his hands to finish the job himself when Ross chuckled darkly against his neck. Then he moved again inside him, setting a rhythm of slow thrusts.

“Ross…” His whole vocabulary seemed to be reduced to this one word, the one name that encompassed desire, pain and pleasure beyond rationality. With his head bowed all he could see were Ross’ hands, his left grabbing his hips, his right placed on his chest – the only thing that kept him upright. George’s muscles were quivering and with every push he lost more of what was left of his composure. His arms hurt from the restraint, the silk digging into his wrists but there was also the soft feeling of Ross’ curls dancing over his neck and shoulders at every turn of his head, tickling him, followed up by a hot mouth sucking at his skin.

The thrusts sped up, drawing another gasp from George’s dry lips. His own cock was begging to be touched and with every push of Ross’ hips he could feel his orgasm building again. George closed his eyes and gave himself over to the satisfying feeling of Ross moving inside him with quickening thrusts while the brunet ran his nails over his chest and left a sharp trail. At George’s low huff he changed the angle of his thrusts slightly, grunting against his neck.

The banker’s eyes darted open again and he all but shouted when Ross’ cock brushed over his prostate, sending a flash of such intensity through him that he couldn’t decide whether it was pleasure or pain. Not that it mattered – his body tensed and Ross’ stomach rubbed against his open hands when the next thrust hit his sweet spot again.

George’s body trembled and his voice choked out a plea as his hands closed, his nails scratching deeply across Ross’ skin. Behind him the brunet gave a low gasp. The supporting hands disappeared from his torso and before George knew what was happening his chest hit the sheets, his knees still bent. His heated skin grazed the cool fabric and air escaped his lungs in a sudden wheeze that turned into a low groan when Ross thrust into him, deeper.

 _Oh god_ … if only he could rub his cock against the bedding but the brunet held his hips in a tight grip again, keeping George’s arse up and so very exposed. The utter indecency of his position added to the hot tension in his groin; he was completely at Ross’ service and he could take from him whatever he wanted. George gasped against the sheets in arousal, unable to even utter the other man’s name as another hard thrust pressed him further into the mattress. That was it, this was what he wanted, only a tiny bit more...

Ross grabbed the kerchief, pushed his wrists up in a sharp strain to his muscles and with the next snap of his hips the brunet spilled into him. The familiar groan rang in George’s ears as he rocked back on Ross’ cock in need, every twitch inside him pushing him closer to the edge.

Ross’ his right darted out to steady himself against the mattress when his sweaty chest hit George’s back in sudden pressure. The banker moaned at the sensation of Ross’ come slick and hot inside him, his cock pushing deeper. George’s thighs quivered and he moved his hips to a string of sounds that poured out of him. His muscles gave in under the other man’s weight and when Ross landed on him, hitting his prostate again while his cock rubbed against the sheet, George finally, _finally_ found release. His entire body cramped in almost violent shivers as he clenched around Ross, the silk band dug into his wrists and Ross’ teeth dragging over his shoulder coaxed another attempted jolt out of him. A coarse cry stumbled over George’s lips when he came onto the sheet, Ross’ cock buried deeply inside him, his weight pressing him down.

George gasped heavily against the bedding with dry sobs. The faint taste of soap lingered in his mouth but he pressed his hot face onto the fabric, his orgasm rushing through him with staggering force. If it weren’t for Ross’ weight on him George felt he would’ve arched off the bed with his muscles contracting and wringing out every little bit of energy. He moved against Ross in an unintended jerk, feeling his cock moving inside him while his own prick ground against the sheet and the mess he had made.

Ross’ sweaty stomach rested against his back and hands and he breathed heavily against George’s neck in irregular gushes of hot air. One of his hands had wound up in the banker’s hair, gripping it tightly but George still couldn’t see him – this entire time Ross had been little more than an arrangement of fragments that drove him over the edge.

His arms on his back protested against their capturing but George still couldn’t muster enough breath to utter so much as a word. Lying here, drained and exhausted, under Ross, he could well hold out a moment longer. His scalp tingled as the brunet opened his fist and let go of George’s hair, the breath on his neck coming slower now.

Ross braced himself on his arms – George saw his fingers appear next to his face as they tensed under the weight – and moved to get up. His cock slipped out of George who remained lying on his chest, huffing lightly when he felt Ross’ seed trickle down the inside of his thighs. God, he was spent, properly fucked like he had intended to upon his arrival. The mattress moved as he left the bed and only the rustling of Ross grabbing his clothes was heard aside from George’s still ragged breaths; then, the kerchief was pulled and after a few yanks his hands were free again. Before the banker could sit up and cast a look at Ross the tapping of bare feet sounded and he disappeared, leaving only the thud of the closing door.

George breathed out deeply and let his hands fall to his side. This was also how things usually went when they met at Ross’ house – the brunet would fuck him and leave, clean up and dress in private, and wait for him outside the room. George doubted that is was out of courtesy towards him. No, this decision was certainly a sign of Ross’ disposition towards their arrangement. Whether he wanted to show George that he was only a means to an end or needed space to come to terms with what they had just done the banker didn’t know. But frankly, whichever reason it turned out to be, George wasn’t fazed by it. Of course he could easily take offence at this spatial distance but George got what he wanted from Ross and even nudged him into a new direction – the rest did not really matter.

He slowly sat up, threw the kerchief to the side and rubbed his wrists gently. The pull of the silk had left them tender to the touch and slightly red but that would fade soon enough. A small price to pay for the pleasures it had brought.

Moving off the bed George walked over to the little dresser at the other side of the room, his mind still comfortably hazy from his orgasm. On the polished surface stood a bowl with water, next to it lay a towel. George grabbed it and put it to his nose – the same smell as the sheets. With a faint smile on his lips he started to wash and dress himself, returning to the version of himself that could be presented in public while Ross was doing the same thing in a room upstairs.

 

* * * * * * * * *

When George left the servant bedroom Ross was already standing in the parlour, dressed in breeches, a shirt and a done up waistcoat. His face looked stern but then again this seemed to be his neutral expression lately. At least since Elizabeth had married and he had reappeared on the social scale. For a moment George wondered what had happened to Ross in America – the scar on the side of his face couldn’t be the only thing he carried around from that time. The cheerful and mischievous boy from back at school wasn’t entirely gone though definitely changed.

But then again, this had been a long time ago and neither he nor Ross were boys anymore. George had changed as well and maybe it was the sign of a man grown to lose that playfulness. Strange to think that despite their adjustments in character he and Ross still maintained the same demeanour towards each other. Well, not entirely the same, George thought with a satisfied smile and a rub over his wrist, for once he was not only noticed but actively sought out by Ross. And their arrangement wasn’t nearly as one-sided as Ross certainly thought.

“George,” Ross said politely when the banker came closer and his eyes flickered shortly over his appearance.

“Ross,” the banker replied in kind, “Thank you for your hospitality.”

The brunet nodded. “Of course.”

“I hope you enjoy the new turn our arrangement is taking?” George inquired, smiling from under his lashes.

“I’m pleasantly surprised about your sense of duty and willingness to sacrifice something of your own.”

Ross certainly didn’t only mean the kerchief – his remark wasn’t lost on George and he tilted his head. “Well, there is usually more to a man than meets the eye.”

Ross nodded, looking him at him sternly. “Indeed.”

There it was, the defiance so inherent in his character. Not waiting for an answer Ross opened the door and let George step through it before he followed him, grudgingly adhering to his duties as a host. The banker smiled to himself. Well, Ross could demonstrate his dismissal of him outside the bedroom all he wanted – that did not change what had happen and would continue to go on.

George got on his horse, nodded at Ross and left Nampara, smiling at the thought of the kerchief still lying on the bed.


	5. Nampara and Surroundings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a bit of plot, didn't I? There you go :)

Dwight stopped at the crossroad in between two fields. The directions the lady in the tavern had given him were sufficient so far but she hadn’t mentioned that there was another junction on his way to Ross. Dwight’s horse used the moment for a snack of grass while the young doctor looked around. Fields, grasslands, a very steep yet beautiful cliff overlooking the ocean. He was familiar with Cornwall’s countryside but he hadn’t grown up in this area – and neither had he visited Ross before. After their return from America they had parted ways with the promise to see each other again soon. Dwight had set of to spend some time in London to continue his studies of medicine, and Ross had said he would return to his home Nampara, to father and fiancée. By now he surely was a happy husband and successful mine owner.

As beautiful as this part of Cornwall was it appeared also very sparingly populated. At least it seemed like it to Dwight who hadn’t seen another person for the better part of an hour. He sighed quietly, re-adjusted his hat and, after another short glance along the road, guided his horse to the left. Any decision was better than standing here and who was to say whether he wouldn’t find Nampara by accident. It couldn’t be much farther now.

Dwight was in no rush to arrive at Ross’ even though he was excited at the prospect of seeing him again. But it was late afternoon and knowing Ross and his work ethic he was surely out and about for a while longer, taking care of what needed doing. And barging in on his wife without having met her properly was not something Dwight desired to be the first impression he made.

As Dwight rode on he made out another rider who was coming his way. Finally another soul in this beautiful yet lonely landscape and with a bit of luck it would not be a lost traveller like himself.

“Excuse me, Sir,” Dwight called out when the rider was close enough to hear him over the sound of clattering hooves, “Is Nampara along that way?”

The other man slowed down his horse and approached Dwight. He looked elegant, dressed in fine clothes of good quality and cut. His hands were clothed in gloves that extended over the wrists and before Dwight could wonder about this eccentricity in moderately warm weather he gained an answer.

“It is,” the other man nodded, looking upon him with mild interest, tipping his head, “Are you a friend of Ross Poldark’s? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Indeed,” Dwight answered, slightly surprised to hear his friend’s name from this clearly upper class gentleman. Then he remembered that the Poldarks had enough reputation to their name to be known and connected with the upper class. Things had been different in America where an old family name did not protect anyone from a musket. “Dwight Enys, I know him from the army.”

“Ah,” the other man smiled a fine smile, “We share an acquaintance then, Mr Enys. George Warleggan.”

Warleggan… Dwight felt that he had heard that name before though he could not place it at the moment. “It certainly seems like it,” he nodded and inquired, “Are you neighbours?”

“No, Mr Poldark and I both conduct business in the mining industry.”

“I see,” Ross might have mentioned him in combination with that, then. Maybe it was even the blacksmith’s grandson whose family had become bankers in two generations? Dwight couldn’t recall for now but made a mental note to ask Ross about him. “Ross talked about mining often. Did you just leave him? Is he home?”

“Yes, he is,” an indeterminable smile danced around Warleggan’s lips for a moment before he pointed into the direction he had just come from. “You will find him just down that road.”

“Thank you for your help, Mr Warleggan. Pleasure meeting you.” Dwight tipped his hat by way of greeting.

“And you, Mr Enys,” the other man said, “Good day.”

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

Mr Warleggan’s directions proved to be very helpful and not half an hour later Dwight rode onto Ross’ property. It looked simple but well tended to, very homely. The windows of a room along the side of the house were open wide and confirmed the notion that he was at home.

Dwight dismounted from his horse and walked up to Ross’ door, the excited smile on his face intensifying further.

Three knocks and Ross opened, looking up at him when his eyes widened.

“Captain Poldark,” the doctor smiled and a moment later Ross pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Dwight!” Ross grabbed his shoulders and held him an arm’s length away, “What are you doing here? It’s so great to see you, come on in!”

He looked fairly well, Dwight thought, though a little tired. But that was surely just the repercussions of a hard day’s work. He must have just come back and cleaned up, judging by his state of undress. Ross ushered him in with many words and another warm hug, took his hat and coat and a short while later the two friends sat across from each other at the wooden table. Ross opened a bottle of red wine, equally happy to see Dwight again, and they chatted while the brunet prepared a light dinner.

“So I arrived just in the right moment,” Dwight said, sufficiently full after a delicious arrangement of cheese and bread, “I would have hated to disturb you and your other visitor.”

“Dwight, you never disturb me,” Ross said warmly, then tilted his head in question, “But which visitor do you mean?”

“I met Mr Warleggan on my way here. He was so kind to point me into the right direction.”

“Oh… George. Yes, we, uh, he came by.” Ross broke eye contact for a moment and took a sip of his wine. Throughout their conversation he seemed a little driven to Dwight despite his obvious joy of seeing him again. The doctor thought nothing of it. They hadn’t seen each other in a while and the circumstances were definitely different so who was he to accuse a man – a friend – of being unbalanced. But now it shone through for good.

“Is that the man you told me about?” Dwight asked, remembering the question that had occupied his mind ever since he had met Mr Warleggan, “The banker who paid so much attention to you at school and even after?”

“That is the one,” Ross agreed, his expression still somewhat tense.

“I was under the impression that you still were not exactly on friendly terms.” How strange that George Warleggan took the time to pay Ross a visit if the stories he had told him were anything to go by – and that Ross invited him in. The banker had not made the impression of a man rejected.

“Well…” Ross shrugged and refilled both their glasses; his own was empty again, for the third time while Dwight still sipped on his first, “let’s just say that George and I don’t always see eye to eye.”

“What was he doing here, then?” Dwight asked, taken aback by the strange occurrence, “Don’t tell me you have debts, Ross? Do you need help?”

“No, Dwight,” Ross shook his head, “I haven’t put my life in the Warleggans’ hands, do not worry about me.” A sad smile adorned those words and Dwight hastened to save the mood.

“Forgive me, Ross - I did not mean to pry. We have more to talk of than bankers and finances. It has been so long, how are you? Does that scar still give you pain?”

Ross’ face lit up in a cheeky smile and Dwight relaxed. He didn’t want to make their first meeting in six months a difficult or unpleasant one.

“Oh no, you patched me up fairly well, Dr Enys!” Ross said and added with a grin, “Only a slight discomfort when the weather is changing. I can join the old women in town for their predictions.”

Dwight returned the smile and lifted his hands in a deploring gesture. “Rest assured that my ability and expertise have both been seasoned by two semesters in London. Even though that does not help your scar and I am truly sorry about that.”

“No need,” Ross smiled and took a deep breath. “It is so good to have you here, Dwight. I am really in need of a friend.”

Before Dwight could ask about the reason for Ross’ gloomy statement the brunet added, “You are going to stay longer, are you not?”

“Yes, indeed,” he nodded, “I’m here to study mine diseases. There seems to be a great need of medical attention focussed on it and I would like to help as many people as I can. In this day and age, with mining being the main occupation around these parts, people should not suffer from lung conditions that might be averted.”

Dwight’s voice became more passionate at the subject and looking upon Ross he added, “Since you are in possession of a mine I attempt to combine business with the pleasure of seeing you again. If you like we should see more of each other in the foreseeable future.”

“A noble cause,” Ross nodded and smiled, “I would truly like that. Where are you staying?”

“I have secured lodgings in town at a reasonable price.”

Ross waved his hand to indicate his house and said with an open expression, “You could always stay here.”

“Thank you, Ross, that is very kindly meant. But I will not make a nuisance of myself to you and your lovely wife. I am sure you are in no need of a guest.” Only then did he realise that Ross’ wife still has not come home even though the evening was well advanced already. “Where is she? I cannot wait to meet her after everything you have told me.”

Dwight’s smile dropped when he looked at Ross. The brunet had fallen silent, turning the stem of his glass between his fingers. His gaze was fixed on the dark red liquid swirling around in it and suddenly he looked more than only tired. Exhausted, rather, and disappointed; the complete opposite of the man that had welcomed and hugged him excitedly not long ago. Dwight drew his eyebrows together and waited for Ross to answer but the brunet did not make any attempt to even acknowledge his question.

Gently, Dwight asked, “Ross, has anything happened?”

“Many things, Dwight…” he answered slowly, “many things.”

With growing dismay Dwight listened to Ross’ account of his life after returning; about his cousin marrying Elizabeth, his refusal to attend the wedding and George Warleggan’s part as Francis’ best man. Dwight thought to interrupt Ross and ask about George’s visit earlier but the brunet looked so forlorn already and just opened up to him. Ross went on to tell him about the hardships he faced concerning his mine and land; it seemed dire as well even though Dwight was relieved to hear that the mine was making reasonable profits. Still, Ross’ situation was a far cry from what Dwight had hoped for him and steady wages could not mend a man’s broken heart – least of all Ross’.

Shocked at this multitude of bad news Dwight remained silent for a moment, trying to find anything that might be a solace to his friend.

“Ross, if I can help you in any way…” His sentence faded out and Ross sighed deeply.

“Keep me from thinking and attend all social gatherings for me.”

“You don’t have to go,” Dwight pointed out, jumping at the chance of providing at least a bit of help, “I’m sure everyone will understand that you are not keen on running into her.”

But Ross only looked at him with a quizzical expression. “And give them the satisfaction of seeing my weakness? No. Well, it’s not only that. I see her in town and even when she is not there I cannot distract my mind save for a few moments.” Again his eyes flickered around the room distractedly. He rubbed both his hands through his face and sighed. “I work harder than ever, Dwight, and still I can’t seem to find rest.”

“I will give you something to help you sleep,” Dwight answered soothingly, “And as for the rest please never hesitate to call on me if you need support. You do not have to face all that alone.”

The brunet nodded but kept his eyes on his hands.

“I can get myself invited to those parties,” Dwight suggested, delivering the next sentence wrapped in feigned importance, “In fact I feel like I need to meet more people now that I am staying here for longer.”

If he wasn’t mistaken Ross’ lips moved with the ghost of a smile and Dwight went on in earnest, “And that way I can accompany you.”

The brunet looked up and into his eyes and solemnly said, “Thank you, Dwight. You are a true friend.”

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

Ross said his good-byes to Dwight and watched his figure recede into the darkness and already after a few steps only the light of the lantern was left to see. He closed the door and leaned heavily against it, sighing deeply and suddenly tired not only from the alcohol but mostly from the events of the day.

Dwight’s visit and the certainty to have him stay was by far the best news Ross had received since his return – finally he had a friend close and Dwight’s easy approach to any complicated matter showed Ross just how much time he had spent in his own head lately. But with Dwight arriving there was a chance for things to take a turn for the better. His generous support and loyalty amazed Ross anew every time and the honest horror in the young doctor’s eyes when he heard about Elizabeth made him feel better about his own view of the matter.

After putting away the dishes and extinguishing the candles Ross swayed upstairs, to his bedroom. Maybe he should offer Dwight to stay at his house again – since he knew now that there was no Mrs Poldark he would not think he was intruding and Ross could really use the company.

Ross took off his shirt and placed it on the chair next to the window when he felt a slight stinging on his lower stomach. Three long, moderately deep scratches and a fourth, lighter one ran from his belly button down to the waistband of his breeches.

 _George_.

Over the excitement of Dwight’s arrival Ross had kept all other thoughts at bay – which were returning to his mind quickly now. George and his audacity to bring a kerchief. At first Ross had been angry at George’s interference with the usual way their meetings went but god, the outcome had been fantastic. Having George more submissive than before ticked something off in Ross and even though he usually did not use any props in bed the kerchief had ignited at least some of his imagination. The buzz afterwards had made him calm and satisfied for a considerable amount of time; which was something Ross craved more and more with each passing day.

He finished undressing and slipped under the covers, already drowsy. If he offered Dwight a room in the house though, his meetings with George would become more difficult to carry out… how much of a close call it had already been this afternoon. Ross was relieved that Dwight had only met the banker on the way and did not call while they were in the servant bedroom. As much as he appreciated Dwight as a friend Ross could not tell him about George’s immoral offer and the routine they had established – a routine he intended to keep up.

 


	6. Truro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life since Dwight's arrival and a trip to Truro.

A few days later Ross and Dwight arranged a meeting at the mine. Every inch the ambitious young doctor Dwight had shown up with his medical equipment, explaining to Ross that he would not want to waste a moment on small talk without having the chance to help already. The initially wary eyes that followed him while Ross showed him around turned friendly soon enough after the introductions had taken place. Ross explained why Dwight was here and what his plans were concerning their health, making clear that none of the miners should hesitate to call on Dr Enys even if they think themselves too tight for money. Now, several weeks later, the combination of their two trades worked perfectly well: Dwight gained substantial data for his studies while Ross’ workers were well-cared for and took a liking to the young doctor. Most of Ross’ time was still dedicated to working on his land but the cathartic effect of physical labour had worn off – this was when his thoughts returned to everything that had gone wrong since his return. It was difficult enough for him to not feel his loss and failure constantly but at least he slept decently thanks to the mixture Dwight had given him. He met his friend for dinner or drink ever so often, chatting and exchanging stories and in those moments Ross felt at ease.

The one thing Dwight still did not know of was Ross’ arrangement with George. It hadn’t stopped when he arrived – if anything Ross had taken to calling on George more often now. Neither work nor Dwight could distract him to the extent that Ross felt he needed distraction and George’s compliance was nothing he wanted to miss. In fact, the way he answered his requests so diligently added to Ross’ feeling of security and control; a feeling he knew he needed badly to keep his mind occupied and smother all thoughts of Elizabeth. And as long as no one knew about their involvement there was no reason to put a limit on it.

Keeping Dwight unaware was no difficult task, luckily. He stayed in town after all, making it much easier for Ross and George to continue. The use of a kerchief for a multitude of applications was well established now; the factor of advanced planning had sneaked in and Ross discovered its advantages.

George’s wrists were bound, again, but this time his hands weren’t fastened to his back. His arms were raised above his head, slightly bent at the elbow, and a tight knot held his hands together. From his wrists the long scarf led to the ceiling of the four-poster bed where the fabric wound around the wooden beam across it. George’s right grabbed the fabric and held on to it while his hips moved on Ross’ lap, riding his cock.

At first Ross had rejected his own idea: letting George ride him might take the much-coveted control from the brunet and give the banker a notion of liberty that Ross did not want to risk. In the bedroom George was his servant, and that circumstance should well continue to remain.

But the thought had stuck in Ross’ mind, seductively so, and thus he had come up with the little extra to the position. George was not afraid to make use of additional props in bed and Ross was not to be put on the sidelines due to lack of courage or imagination. Thoughts of blindfolds had ghosted around in his head but after all he enjoyed the devout look in George’s eyes too much to deprive himself of it.

So he had found a way to decline the supposed superiority immediately. Even though George sat on top of him he was tied to the middle of the bed and would go nowhere unless Ross wanted him to. Needless to say George was eager to follow through with it, obediently presenting Ross with his stretched-out wrists and a sultry look that was submission and seduction in itself. Through Ross’ own position, leaning back comfortably onto a pillow and making no attempt to touch George, it was made abundantly clear that _he_ was in charge. A truth that George would never challenge.

The banker moaned, a distinct sound among the other gasps of pleasure he so readily uttered. A dark smile danced around the Ross’ lips as he watched George’s naked form and his eagerly rolling hips – the only part of his body free to move. The muscles in his thighs tightened beautifully around Ross’ middle and his hard cock rubbed over the brunet’s skin with every other move, each time accompanied by a stumbled breath and a look that conveyed how much he desired Ross’ hands on him. Yet he uttered no demand or plea; a resolution that would surely change soon if his already driven movements were anything to go by. Letting his eyes wander further up Ross savoured the sight of George’s flat stomach flexing, the movement travelling to the heaving chest and into the stretched-out arms that sought support from the scarf. The dark coppery red of the fabric contrasted sharply with George’s skin, pale even in the dim light of the morning seeping in from between the shutters. His eyes fell halfway shut now as he leaned his head back and from between his parted lips ragged breaths made it out into the open. Sweat covered his lithe body as he ground into Ross with force and certain elegance – a picture of devotion and dedication that aroused Ross beyond measure. He knew exactly how smooth the well-defined chest felt, how responsive the nipples were to the lightest touch and how he had to move his hand to reduce George to a shivering mess… but for now Ross only tightened his fingers around the sheet, fighting the impulse to grab the banker _. Not yet_. George should work for it and the needy sounds were just too good to be cut short.

“George,” Ross said in a low voice. It wasn’t a gasp of pleasure yet but held the quality of a demand – though the rough sound was definitely intensified by the banker’s steady thrusts.

George’s eyes darted open at the sound of his name, the immediate reaction sending a shiver of arousal through Ross. The banker looked at him obediently, pupils huge with lust and anticipation that brought a stunning concentration into his gaze. Ross licked his lips. The things he could ask of George… _So_ a _ttentive and ready to do my bidding._ Keeping his eyes on Ross George did not stop grinding; if anything the movement became more focussed and Ross bit back a moan. Those diligently rolling hips against his own skin were an appealing contrast to the rigid posture George was forced into by the scarf – and his own passive position.

“Faster,” he growled, “Come on, George…”

Even though George was the active part in this sentence it was Ross who demanded it – and he got what he wanted. George’s hands grabbed the restrain harder and his thrusts sped up as he adhered to Ross’ command with a low groan.

“God, Ross,” he gasped as he took him deeper with every move. Ross’ own breathing was coming ragged at the tight feeling of George around him, working his cock in earnest now and with all the concentration he knew was demanded of him. The arch of George’s back became steeper when he made the most of his free hips; Ross couldn’t keep his eyes from the pale and slim waist giving way to the mellow curve of his arse.

“Just like that,” Ross murmured, voice rough with lust. His pulse was thumping almost in tune to George’s hard thrusts; the banker gave another wanton moan at those words of approval and the noise spread through Ross with intensity, teasing him to find out what other sounds he could draw from him.

With a stifled gasp Ross let go of the sheet and grabbed George’s thighs. The skin was as smooth as the rest of his body but underneath Ross felt the muscles contracting and twitching as he continued to ride him. George’s constitution was certainly not as delicate as his clothes and demeanour in public aimed to convey. Having found that out Ross had felt like being a confidant of a secret: he knew George in a way that none of his business associates did. And those different sides to him made his submission all the more interesting. Ross stroked over the other man’s strong thighs with pressure, deliberately avoiding his erection, and smirked when the answer was a groan and a look of need in George’s blue grey eyes. How worked up he was already, simply by fucking himself on Ross’ cock and listening to his commands. Yes, he had definitely made the right decision to let George ride him – this was as hot as he had hoped and brought a different form of control of which Ross relished every last bit.

George angled his next moves to make the most of Ross’ hands on him. He ground deeper and Ross couldn’t help but start thrusting up into the willing body. God, George seemed to find endless possibilities of moving his hips and heightening Ross’ arousal. A teasing caress over the inside of his thigh made George’s moan louder and Ross sat up to lean on his right arm while the other hand remained on the banker.

George’s head darted forward, the aching need for a kiss radiating off him and his parted lips. But his face stopped a few centimetres in front of Ross’ when the scarf tightened and held him back. The long line of his arms and shoulders strained, looking almost artful in combination with the glazed look in his eyes. A frustrated groan came out of his throat.

“Ross,” he breathed, voice nearly breaking but moving against the brunet’s lap on and on, desperately trying to make up the lack of one sensation with another.

“Do you want to kiss me, George?” Ross rasped, struggling to keep his composure for a while longer. The way George seemed to be held together by nothing but need, need for him, was intoxicating. He sat up fully and even though he was close enough for George to bridge the distance the banker didn’t make an attempt to kiss him. George’s eyes were fixed on his lips as Ross placed his left lightly on the other man’s eagerly moving arse, rubbing against his palm with every thrust. His right ran along the knot as if to make sure that George’s wrists were sufficiently tied, momentarily almost mirroring the banker’s pose.

“Yes,” George gasped and pulled at the scarf again, his fingers brushing along the back of Ross’ hand, “Please, Ross…”

Ross he moved his hand down the banker’s tense arm, up his shoulder and up the side of his sweaty neck. George’s thrusts were just as hard but coming solely from his hips now rather than travelling through his entire body. Under his hand he felt George’s throat move when he swallowed, sending a shiver through Ross as his mind jumped at the detail. Oh, the things he hadn’t yet done with him… Ross’ fingers outlined the dry lips, making light of George’s need when his hot breath washed over his skin. Something akin to a whimper and George darted forward, his lips gliding over Ross’ skin as he took his fingers into his mouth. The brunet’s own mouth ran dry at the warm and wet swipe of George’s tongue around his fingers and he began to suck greedily with his gaze fixed on Ross, a sultry look from under the long lashes. Hell, this look of submission and the well-calculated thrusts made it hard for Ross to hold on. Deep in his groin he could feel his orgasm building and pulled his fingers from George’s mouth with a wet sound, stroking further along the other man’s jaw line – not soft, lingering like a lover’s touch but coarser, quicker, finding his way to the soft hair that was inexplicably still neatly styled. In a sudden stir he grabbed the trademark curl and pulled sharply. The ragged sound from George’s throat rang deliciously in his ears when he leaned forward to eat the rest of the gasp from his lips.

George’s tongue pushed into his mouth and the impatience behind it broke all pretend ease in Ross. Desire took over as he kissed George roughly, sucking and nipping at his lower lip while his left squeezed the banker’s small but firm arse. His weight on Ross and the desperate way in with which he slammed down on his lap mixed with George’s enticing tongue, leaving Ross growling with want.

Barely any space was left between them. George’s cock rubbed along Ross’ stomach, spreading pre-come over his muscles, accompanied by husky moans from both of them. George was so active and at the same time still restrained by the scarf; Ross could easily push him into whichever position he wanted. But there was no need when George worked his cock hard and fast like he did. In a driven motion Ross placed wet kisses along the side of his neck. Fresh sweat, salt, George’s own rich scent and his pulse fluttering under Ross’ mouth, his moan vibrating against his lips… every fibre in Ross’ body felt on fire as he kissed and licked along George’s collarbone and finally closed his mouth over the banker’s left nipple. Dragging his tongue over it George gave a gasp that resembled Ross’ name; his back arched, pressing his chest closer to Ross. The brunet grunted against the hot skin, bit at the hard nipple and sucked, teasing with his tongue and letting his breath gush over it before starting the routine anew. George’s breathing became ragged, his thrusts losing rhythm for a moment. Ross didn’t pull his mouth away but his hand on the other man’s arse grabbed harder to steady him and give him a new pace which George adapted immediately.

“Ross, please…” he groaned, “I need…”

But whatever George wanted to say ended in a deep moan when Ross thrust up into him and sucked again at the hard nipple. The banker’s heart beat hectically against the ribcage, his arms flexed as he held onto the scarf so tight that Ross half expected the beam to crash down on them. But even that couldn’t have stopped Ross now as he brought his hands up and placed them on George’s pointed shoulder blades, feeling the muscles moving and straining with ever thrust the banker delivered. Ross pulled his mouth from his chest and looked at the sight in front of him: George was dishevelled beyond recognition with his wayward hair, bright red lips and sweaty, heaving chest while his hips worked relentlessly and oh so well. With a grunt the brunet claimed George’s mouth again and when he sped up his thrusts once more Ross came into him, muscles twitching under the weight on him. He broke the kiss with a low groan and threw his head back, barely noticing George’s lips meeting his throat. It felt so good, the exhilarating feeling of spilling into George’s tight body heightened by the other man’s insistent rocking. George all but rode him through his orgasm while kissing and licking his throat and Ross’ head was spinning, his body cramping with release. He dragged his nails down the length of George’s back and felt the banker’s throaty shout more than he heard it – his back arched under his nails and pushed his head against Ross’ shoulder, shivering, driven and so close to his climax. Ross’ chest was heaving and his left grabbed George’s arse tightly while his right scratched at the banker’s back once more before stroking his cock. George came almost at first touch. A coarse cry and he spilled over Ross’ hand and onto his stomach in almost violent shudders while the rest of his body tightened and clenched around the brunet.

* * * * * * * * *

The entertainment George provided was indeed one of the few things that kept Ross distracted, especially seeing that his using of the kerchief turned out to be such a success. In the back of his mind Ross knew that this was a phase and he would soon need to find something new to continue the thrill he felt now. But that was neither an urgent matter nor a difficult one. George got off on being put in increasingly submissive positions and Ross enjoyed every second of his dominance. Even if he was at loss for a new idea George would surely be more than happy to provide.

When in public Ross and George tried to keep a distance or busy themselves with enough conversation or gambling so that they barely had the chance to speak. It was just as well to Ross – he did not like George for his opinions. When they held the obligatory conversation the banker’s inherently irritating character shone through and that was something Ross tried to stay clear from. It made it difficult for him to maintain a civil demeanour towards George and not put him in his place; their public appearances and their meetings in the bedroom were so intrinsically different that Ross struggled to unify both versions of George to act appropriately in company of others.

Ross only hoped that Dwight did not notice on these occasions; or that if he did he would ascribe it to the copious amounts of brandy that were usually served and indeed consumed by Ross. If he did disapprove of Ross’ drinking he kept quiet about it – another quality Ross appreciated in his friend. The doctor had kept his promise and accompanied Ross when he could and all the while established himself in society as well. He was well-liked and his expertise was respected, making him a coveted guest. Dwight had met Elizabeth and Francis as well as Verity. He was even appointed as their new doctor and even though Dwight only let Ross know in a short comment to not make him upset Ross was happy for the success his friend had, professionally and in society. He had met George too, of course, during one of the Warleggan’s balls. George had sought the young doctor’s attention and invited him to the card table. Ross suspected that this was another of George’s schemes – become friendly with Dwight because of his good reputation, maybe even to have someone close to Ross on his side – but so far neither Dwight nor George had mentioned anything that would point in that direction. Still, with growing satisfaction Ross noticed that Dwight was not nearly as impressed by George and his money as the banker would have liked. The doctor behaved amiable towards George but made a point of standing up to him if he uttered something he did not agree with.

Dwight’s presence at those social occasions also made it easier for Ross to deal with Elizabeth’s appearance. After her social call weeks back she had kept her distance like Ross had asked of her, which, on the one hand, was a relief but it did not change the fact that he saw her in public. But with Dwight around there was at last a person whom he could trust and who had his back.

 

* * * * * * *

 

The streets of Truro were crowded on this market day with people offering their goods, taking care of their shopping and enjoying the warm summer afternoon that already held the golden light announcing autumn.

Walking in the soothing anonymity of the crowd Ross listened attentively to Dwight talk about the new treatment he had devised to help with the cough that many miners were suffering from. The young doctor was speaking with fervour and Ross smiled to himself, impressed by the enthusiasm Dwight had for his vocation. They made their way towards The Red Lion; their shopping was done and they longed for refreshment before riding back to Nampara and supping together. Ross just asked Dwight about the exact ingredient of the ointment he had devised when he spotted George across the road, walking in their direction.

He was clothed formally and in expensive garments, carrying a walking cane he surely thought made him appear cultured. In any case he stood out – a man well aware of his appearance and indeed zealous to be noticed. Nothing in his demeanour betrayed the fact that he had ridden Ross this morning, tied to the beam of the bed’s canopy. A quick glance and Ross noticed the light riding gloves George had not taken off for his stroll through town. Knowing exactly what the banker hid underneath the leather eased his annoyance of facing him in public substantially.

Yet for a moment Ross feared George would utter a remark, something ambiguous that Dwight might pick up on or demand an explanation for. But no such thing happened: George passed them with a nod, a fine smile and a polite “Good day, gentlemen” that they returned.

After a few strides Dwight slightly shook his head. “I cannot help but feel a certain reluctance towards Mr Warleggan. He has been nothing but hospitable to me yet I can’t seem to warm to him.”

Ross held open the door of the Inn for his friend and entered after him. A gush of voices greeted them, clinking glasses and chairs scraping over the wooden floor. “It is no shame to follow one’s gut feeling, Dwight.”

“Still,” Dwight replied, “he might not deserve it.”

Ross walked through the room to reach the far side of the Inn where a few chairs remained unoccupied. Sitting down between two groups of working class men who were deep into conversation and bawdy jokes Ross and Dwight took of their hats.

“You behave politely enough towards him,” Ross said pointedly, looking at Dwight across the table. “There is nothing more he can ask of you.”

The thought that his friend felt anything akin to gratefulness for George didn’t sit right with him – well, at least no gratefulness extending beyond the normal appreciation of their festivities.

“He isn’t asking anything to begin with. He is a gentleman in his own right,” Dwight said with furrowed brows, “But I suppose you are right. I’ll get us something to drink.”

When Dwight came back with two mugs of ale they talked among themselves for a while, letting the subject of one Mr George Warleggan slide. Dwight did not appear earnestly troubled by his understandable struggle to appreciate George for his personality and Ross preferred to talk of other subjects than the banker.

“I tended to Francis yesterday,” Dwight said and took a sip of his drink.

“Oh? Is he ill?”

Ross hadn’t heard from the other members of his family in a while and Francis and he were still somewhat at odds. Ross suspected that Elizabeth had told Francis about his opinions concerning George’s involvement in his finances. Yet Francis himself had not addressed the matter on the handful occasions they had met. Despite his involvement with George Ross did not know how their business and personal relations had developed in the meantime. That in itself was not surprising given the nature of their meetings. Besides, Ross still held on to the notion that Francis was responsible for his own fate from here on out.

Before he could bite his tongue, though, Ross added, “I hope he did not infect the others at Trenwith?”

“They are fine. It’s nothing grave, do not worry,” Dwight hastened to calm him down, “He will be well again in a matter of days. But I did have the chance to speak with Elizabeth.”

Ah. This was not about Francis or his health after all. Elizabeth was rarely a subject between Dwight and Ross since the doctor had been informed regarding the circumstances. While Ross thought of her in the privacy of his own mind he made a point of not discussing her with anyone. Even George had refrained from bringing her up again.

Ross’ expression hardened as he said flatly, stating more than asking, “Did you.”

“Yes. She was very kind to me,” Dwight said with a careful glance at his friend, “We talked about social gatherings and she told me how much it pains her that you would not so much as look at her.”

 _Indeed_. What was Elizabeth thinking? With that ring on her finger she was certainly not in a position to utter such remarks. She was married to Francis and any reaching out to him was more than questionable given their earlier involvement. Elizabeth had everything she could ever want – and still wanted more. But this watered down relation she suggested was an insult to him. Pressure on the wound that refused to heal. And to use Dwight of all people. Young, idealistic Dwight, making him her naïve messenger.

Ross scoffed. “I am sure she is the injured party in this.”

“Ross, she seemed honest,” Dwight said in concern, “Of course she has Francis and Verity for company but they do not have the same place in her heart like you do.”

The brunet sighed deeply. _Oh Dwight_. Whatever place he held in her heart had obviously not been important enough. Ross knew that his friend didn’t intend to agitate him which could only indicate that the subject was important to him. “Dwight, nothing good could come of her and me meeting.”

“Do you not find it in you to forgive her and accept her friendship?” he asked in a soothing yet hopeful tone.

A humourless chuckle was Ross’ comment. Those two concepts had changed a lot in his mind since his return and Dwight’s insistence to bring it up began to irritate Ross. Easy for him to suggest this, standing on the outside and looking in.

“I do not need her friendship,” Ross said in a grim tone, “And she does not need my forgiveness.”

“I would not be so sure about either those things.” Dwight looked at him seriously.

“Well, I am,” Ross replied, sudden anger bubbling up in him at Dwight’s doubt. He had refused, was that not enough? Their friendship, close as it might be, did not give him the entitlement to discuss this subject. “My mind is made up and none of your objections will persuade me. You can think of it whatever you like, Dwight. But don’t trouble me with it.”

Dwight’s demeanour changed as he bowed his head in apology. “I didn’t mean…” he began but Ross interrupted him.

“And I would appreciate if you did not meddle with my private life,” his voice was pressed, struggling to keep it down. The two groups on either side of their table were still concerned with themselves though one or two curious glances were sent their way.

Ross hissed, “It is alright the way it is now and any step in _that_ direction would destroy what little comfort I have these days.”

“Ross…” Confusion was written all over Dwight’s face as he watched the brunet down his drink, slam the mug on the table and stand up.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Ross shot Dwight a heated look, “I need some air.”

Before Dwight had a chance to reply he had already walked halfway through the room, not even remembering to pick up his hat from the table in his anger. Behind him Dwight’s muffled “Ross, where are you going-” receded as he stepped over the threshold and out into the buzzing street.

In the back of his mind he knew he was not angry with his friend. But he couldn’t stand another moment of his company for now, being reminded when all he wanted was distraction.

 _Distraction_.

Ross clenched his jaw and started to walk back the way they had come in determined strides.


	7. Streets of Truro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George is caught a little off-guard and Dwight worries.

“Please deliver the goods to this address,” George said, putting down a piece of paper on the counter and picking up his change, “Good day.”

“It will be there by tonight. Thank you and good day, Sir,” the merchant answered and opened the door for him.

That was the last order George had ventured out to place which meant he had the rest of the day, essentially, off. There was another meeting with his business associates later in the Red Lion but it was of a casual and most likely gaming nature and certainly no hardship. But between then and now he could visit the Warleggan’s townhouse to see how the renovations were progressing. Or wander back to the town square. He had spent enough time in the calmer parts of Truro.

George gave the shopkeeper a fine smile in return as he stepped over the threshold, turning to the left with his cane casually drumming a tuneless pattern on the ground. Both options lay in this direction and he could always decide on the way what he felt more like pursuing.

A sudden pull on his right arm made the cane scratch over the ground in a sharp screech, throwing him off balance for a second. He stared at the long yet elegant fingers grabbing his blue overcoat and even before George cast a look at his attacker he knew.

“George,” a deep voice said and the banker looked up into Ross’ face.

“Ross?” The confirmation of his suspicion still came as a surprise for him. What added to it was Ross’ state: his head wasn’t covered with a tricorne and his overcoat was undone as if he had left in a hurry. His eyebrows were drawn and from under it an intense gaze met George’s eyes, only increased by the clenched jaw.

“How did you…” George began to ask but his question was cut short.

“Come with me.”

The pull on his arm became stronger and George looked at Ross in confusion. “What? Where?”

This situation was bordering on the comical if it weren’t for Ross’ mood. He must have followed him, George thought, and waited for him to finish his order. This wasn’t the part of town where one just happened to meet people. In fact, George was fairly determined not to have anyone on his heels, the wine shop being somewhat of an inside tip. But Ross was certainly not after finding out who the Warleggan’s wine supplier was.

“Somewhere quiet.”

 _Of course_. The erratic movements, the barely contained rage – George had a fairly decent idea how this meeting would end in the broader scheme of things. It lay on the tip of his tongue to suggest the townhouse but then he stopped himself. _Let’s see what he’s got in mind_. Something had set Ross off and now he was seeking relief. Simple enough as this seemed George felt his heart beat a little faster at the prospect and curiosity crept up on him.

He gave the hint of a nod, his agreement the first step to whatever form and shape this unusual development would take. Ross let go of his arm, turned around and walked back down the alley past the wine shop in long strides, not bothering to look back at George. There was no need as both men knew: George followed him with a bit of a distance and watched him disappear behind a corner.

This was a rather curious development, not solely because of the clandestine behaviour Ross displayed. Just this morning he had visited him, tied to the beam of his canopy bed. Not that George was averse to the idea of having him – or rather being had – twice in one day. Quite the contrary, seeing that sex with Ross had been exciting from their first rushed encounter in the smoking room. Since George’s little hint with the kerchief had worked out so well he enjoyed the different facets all the more. Still, this was out of the ordinary. Interestingly so.

He reached the corner and turned into a narrow alley on the far end of which Ross was already pacing back and forth. The brunet looked up when the sound of George’s steps jumped off the windowless building walls, stopping in his fickle moves and waiting for him to reach him.

In deliberate strides George walked up to Ross and stood in front of him, simply waiting. The brunet should have to ask for what he wanted. For now George was still independent from Ross, not characterised by his meaning for him – though the surrounding was contributing to the impending change.

“Kneel down.”

George narrowed his eyes, trying to assess if Ross was toying with him. But the other man did not look to be in a joking mood.

“Ross, we’re in public,” George pointed out.

“I noticed,” Ross growled, “And you will suck me off. In public.”

Well, this was certainly new. George’s interest was piqued. Ross was the one who had made abundantly clear that he did not want their meetings to happen in any public place anymore. And now this? What had seemed to be a strange assumption not minutes before became reality through Ross’ words. Not that George was not intrigued by the idea of doing it here, a few streets away from the main marketplace. No, what had him wondering was Ross’ sudden change in mood. Just a while ago George had seen him and Dr Enys walking around Truro in what looked like an engaging conversation. Evidently something must have happened in the meantime, something that made Ross forget all notions of caution. And whichever trigger it had been might prove to be of interest to George if he could find it out.

“Don’t you like a potential audience, George?” Ross interrupted his musings, staring at him in a look that conveyed how serious he was, “I thought that would be according to you taste.”

A slow smile spread over George’s face as he leaned his walking cane against the wall next to him and took off his hat, placing it carefully on the dry ground. Then, he stepped closer to Ross and rested his hand on the waistband of his breeches. Ross was certainly right about this. The added secrecy and danger of being caught already made his pulse go faster. Just standing here with Ross had the notion of something forbidden, something entirely improper.

But the important thing about this statement was the fact that he apparently _had_ thought about it. Of course this was not about George’s pleasure – it never was explicitly, even though he off in just the way he liked. But Ross’ little comment showed more than he knew. He responded perfectly to his schemes and intentions. The idea of letting him ride him and tying him up had come from Ross himself. As did this venture.

“What if someone sees us?” George asked, giving his voice a slightly husky sound. The concern was mostly fake – of course there was the possibility that someone might chance upon them but in a town as big as Truro no one would care. Yet the thought was one to pursue in theory, purely to humour himself.

“Then they’ll think they are mistaken,” the brunet said in answer to his question, tilting his head to indicate that George had better make quick work of the breeches, “Unless you have sucked every man’s cock in this town and they all know what you look like on your knees.”

A sharp look and a slightly cruel smile adorned these words but George only raised an ironic eyebrow as he undid Ross’ buttons. “Not all of them, no.”

He couldn’t help but tease Ross in these moments ahead of his transition from banker to the other man’s servant. The dark eyes narrowed but before Ross’ anger could either be projected onto him or – god forbid – he changed his mind George knelt down.

The change of position alone gave George a first rush to the head. This was actually happening, a clandestine encounter in a dingy back alley, and he was the one to provide pleasure.

George shifted a little to find a position that was somewhat comfortable; the plan forming in his thoughts and placing him in an anticipated frame of mind shouldn’t be put to a sudden end because his knees gave in. Luckily the ground was dry if a bit dusty so that his trousers wouldn’t carry the evidence of what was about to happen here. Ross’ eyes followed his movements closely but the suspicious look in them softened when George tugged down the brunet’s breeches, freeing his cock. Ross was half hard already and just as George leaned forward the brunet cupped his chin, his fingers putting enough pressure on his skin to let him know who was in charge.

“You’ll swallow, George,” he said, brushing his thumb over the banker’s lower lip, “I don’t want one hint of a stain on my clothing.”

George’s lips parted lightly and a small huff escaped them. Ross’ eyes bore into him in urgency, underlining that his words, uttered in a voice rough with arousal, were no suggestion but a clear command. God, the very idea of sucking Ross off and letting him come into his mouth was enough to make him harden. How filthy to think of his load running down George’s throat as he sucked thoroughly, an eager servant to Ross. And for everyone to see if they cared to cast them a look.

George nodded against Ross’ grip, not trusting his voice to carry. His mouth was destined for other purposes and kneeling here in the alley, in the dirt, with Ross’ cock in front of him – there was barely anything that needed saying.

“Good,” Ross murmured and let go of his face.

It was George who was in charge of Ross’ pleasure – no restraints this time but the nature of their respective positions. And it were those that gave George a rush. Ross was almost towering over him, watching him, his seductive dominance putting the banker so easily in his place. The hard ground beneath George’s knees would make him feel inferior and offended normally, a position entirely unbecoming to someone of his status. But for Ross…

George lifted his hands and placed them on the clothed part of Ross’ thighs, brushing lightly upwards until he met bare skin. The muscles under his touch were tense, just as he had thought: the brunet was still agitated and somewhat jumpy. His anticipation, though plainly visible, had not yet replaced his anger. Well, that was something George should be able to change. He wanted to savour this situation, to make it worth both their while rather than going for a quick and dirty blowjob. No, he had the chance to make another lasting impression and was determined to make it count.

George wrapped his right around Ross’ cock and began to stroke in a decent pace to match the other man’s mood. His tongue darted out to lick his upper lip before he sucked in his bottom lip, wetting both. With another look from under his lashes George noticed in approval how Ross’ eyes were fixed on his mouth, certainly appearing redder than usual from his spit. Readjusting his weight on his knees George pursed his lips slightly and brought his mouth to Ross’ cock. The tip rested against his slick, unmoving lips for the moment it took him to stroke down and under his left the banker felt Ross’ muscles tense further. His lips were parted as he stared at George, his expression still a mixture of anger and lust but well on its way of favouring the latter.

Ross opened his mouth to say something but before the words made it out in the open George wrapped his lips around the tip of his cock in time with the upstroke of his hand. A little suckle and George moved his hand and mouth in tune along the shaft. A surprised groan instead of a command came out of Ross’ throat and he placed his hands on the wall behind him. George didn’t tease. His own cock was well on its way to strain his breeches as the heady taste of Ross hit him, heavy and seductive, a more intense version of the taste and smell he knew. But the part where he would truly relish being on his knees would come later when Ross was sufficiently distracted from his anger. For now George kept up the same pace as before, taking the edge off for Ross and at the same time making him want more.

He let his lips rub over the velvety skin and slicked him with his saliva when he felt Ross stiffen fully in his mouth. Even though he had planned to remain as silent as possible in case of any passers-by George couldn’t help but give a muffled moan at the sensation. How amazing it felt, the hardness under the soft and smooth skin: the clear evidence of Ross’ lust and his approval of George’s actions. The brunet’s cock was heavy on his tongue as he continued to move his head and the accompanying low grunts convinced him entirely that Ross was forgetting his rage one stroke at a time. _Good_. His right let go of Ross’ cock as he took him deeper into his mouth. It had been a while since he had given head but George remembered his own capabilities well. He couldn’t fit all of Ross’ erection into his mouth but judging from the strained breathing the brunet had adapted it served him well enough.

George dragged his tongue along the underside of Ross’ cock with a bit more pressure and slowed down his movements now that he knew he had his attention. Whichever event had made them end up here wasn’t important anymore – not to Ross and not to George. Ross moved his hips lightly, involuntarily at the waning speed but George’s left put more pressure on his thigh to keep him in place. Like he planned, this wouldn’t be a rushed experience. He half expected Ross to swat his hand away but the brunet did no such thing. The quiet acquiescence of Ross keeping his hips in check with effort added to his arousal: not only was he allowed to suck his cock but Ross was willing to play according to his rules if it meant more pleasure for him. And George was nothing if not eager to please Ross. He took him as deep as he could, his nose nearly brushing up against Ross’ groin for a moment. Then he pulled back slowly, deliberately, his lips wrapped tightly around him.

“George,” Ross gasped and with satisfaction the banker saw his fingers dig into the wall behind him.

George looked up to meet Ross’ wide-eyed gaze, the jaw tensely locked to keep the sounds to a minimum. Yet George could hear his ragged breaths and the heaving chest telling him just how well he was doing his job. Ross’ hair, not held back by a hat, fell into his eyes and curled about his face, obscuring the flush in his cheeks. He looked wild to George, almost feral, and on impulse he cast down his eyes again. His heart sped up at his own submissive gesture and the image of Ross looming over him stuck in his mind, watching him as the hard ground dug into his skin, obediently doing what he was told…. He was rock hard as Ross’ cock left his mouth inch by inch. When only the tip remained between his lips he sucked lightly, swiping his tongue over the head and licking off the salty pre-come mixed with his own saliva. Then, he pulled back entirely and Ross’ cock left his mouth with a soft and wet sound. Ross gave an irritated moan when George leaned forward again and kissed the spot just under the head with gentle lips. The moan took on a deeper quality, giving it that rumbling sound intrinsically connected to Ross’ pleasure and George drank up the flattery like sweet wine.

He angled his face so that the tip of Ross’ cock brushed against his cheek. Wet from his own saliva it painted a trail on his skin as he placed a few teasing kisses on the side, his tongue darting in quick licks. The taste made George’s head spin and almost unnoticed by him his own hips began to roll. He licked along the curve of Ross’ erection, slowly and with pressure when his right hand joined and stroked the part he had just left slick and flush with arousal. Dragging his tongue down to the base of Ross’ cock the brunet’s breath hitched.

“George,” he panted, still in a pressed voice but unmistakeably in need of more, “Your tongue, George…”

His name from the brunet’s lips spurred him on even more. _Ross Poldark gaining pleasure from my tongue, my mouth, me_. George smiled against Ross’ cock, almost dizzy from the experience, and placed another slow lick on the underside while his hand continued to stroke him in a steady pace. Then, his tongue teased a little lower and he sucked one of Ross’ testicles into his mouth.

A sharp intake of breath and Ross’ hand wound up in his hair, grabbing tightly. George gasped in surprise at his tingling scalp, the sensation travelling down his neck and sending a shiver through his body. Almost in time Ross groaned loudly, not caring about volume or the semi-public space anymore. God, how aroused Ross sounded and _felt_ under his hands and mouth… His left hand moved to his own erection, palming himself through his breeches as George sucked a little harder and added a swipe of his tongue. The dual sensation made for an intoxicating mixture and arousal spread through George’s entire body.

He pulled his mouth back, letting his breath wash over the wet skin. In response Ross’ grip on his hair became tighter but the brunet did not direct him. Against the pull of his hand George mouthed along Ross’ cock in devoted licks, breathing a little kiss on the head. Then, he closed his lips around it again. The skin was almost dripping with saliva and pre-come, hot and wet in his mouth. George moaned lightly and rubbed harder over his own cock, just to take the edge off. He wouldn’t come, of course – that went without saying. At least not while Ross’ cock was still in his mouth and he kept the other man company. His tongue swirled around the head and he dipped into the slit as he looked up. George just saw how Ross threw his head back with a low growl, one hand still clawing at the wall while the other grabbed the banker’s hair. His throat was stretched beautifully and George could see the Adam’s apple jumping hectically. _What a sight._

Ross’ cock was twitching lightly and with a rush of excitement George remembered the second part of his task. He relaxed his throat as good as he could and began to bob his head, taking a little more of Ross’ cock into his mouth with every move. Ross was so wet and slick and the noises George’s mouth made around him were just short of obscene. The banker sped up the pace, sucking harder with every move while his hand massaged himself through his breeches, barely keeping him sane. The grip on his hair became tighter as the brunet began to thrust his hips forwards, looking down at him. George gasped at the sudden loss of control, shifting his weight on his knees and eager to adhere to Ross’ direction. He was holding him in place purely for his own pleasure now – a thought so arousing and fitting to the situation that George’s moan became louder. Even if someone were to chance upon them now he wouldn’t be able but to keep going, taking Ross as deep as he could. He brought his free hand up to fondle Ross’ testicles and choked a little when the brunet’s thrusts became deeper, along with his ragged breaths. The hard cock slid between his lips and almost hit the back of his throat as George tried to time his movements.

“George… If you could see yourself,” Ross panted, chest heaving and cheeks flushed, “My obedient little whore… ”

His words ran through George in ripples and curled in his groin, arousing him, cause that what he was, only for Ross and his rough voice, kneeling, appropriating whichever position he wanted to see him in and diligently doing what he was told, catering to him… George moved his head faster, the brunet’s pull on his hair making him give a muffled moan. He lightly tugged at Ross’ testicles and the other man gasped out another slurred “George…” as a warning before spilling into his mouth with a low grunt, eyes fixed on him. George’s mouth filled with his release, leaving a peculiar taste on his tongue, and he swallowed immediately. It ran hotly down his throat as he continued to work Ross’ cock through his orgasm, sucking, groaning in a way that would have put the cheapest whore to shame. The brunet bucked his hips and George just about managed to keep from choking. But before it could become too much Ross’ hand let go of his hair and slid down to his jaw in an unfocussed motion, stroking along the side of his throat. He was moving his head freely now and remembered Ross’ words only too well as he swallowed deeply. _No hint of a stain on his clothing_. Yet a thin trail of Ross’ cum and George’s saliva ran down the side of his mouth and over his chin to drop to the dusty ground. Ross’ thumb swiped over the trail, spreading the fluids along George’s lower lip before he let go of his head. He leaned back onto the wall for support and George followed the movement, giving the brunet’s cock another deep suck. Ross’ gasps echoed through the alley as George slowly pulled off, his lips wrapped tightly around the sensitive skin.

George leaned back on his heels, remaining seated for a moment to catch his breath. His throat felt rough and Ross’ taste lingered on his tongue and lips as he picked a handkerchief from his coat pocket with ginger fingers. Across from him Ross remained leaning against the wall, head thrown back and eyes closed, his chest moving in deep breaths. George wiped his mouth and chin carefully. Then, he stood up and at the shuffling sound Ross’ eyes darted open again. A quick look in George’s direction, still of a glazed nature, he seemed to return to the reality of the moment and began to clean himself up and dress again. George only threw him a short glance while he straightened his own clothing. Except for a thin layer of dust on his breeches, which was quickly taken care of, only his neck cloth was slightly damp from his sweat. He loosened the knot a bit but not too much – nothing in his appearance should give away either his secret or a sense of carelessness.

“What brought this on, then?” George asked casually as he picked up his hat and put it on. Even though the insistent heat he had felt moments ago was gone (though his erection was still pressing against his breeches) the sound of his own rough voice – or rather the reason for it – brought him another wave of subliminal excitement. Ross barely looked up from fastening his buttons.

“None of your concern,” he mumbled.

 _Well, it certainly is if you need me to calm down_. George was still curious as to the reason for this impromptu happening but if Ross didn’t feel like sharing he wouldn’t get the information out of him anyway. Whatever had happened had made Ross reckless enough to choose a public place but at the heart of the matter lay a fact as simple as it was important: Ross _did_ look for him, actively. The thought made George’s lips curl into a smile that he hastened to suppress.

“I do trust you feel better, though?”

“Thanks to your mouth,” Ross said pointedly, yet not as dismissive as he probably wished, “Not thanks to your words.”

George chuckled lightly and tilted his head. Shame was not in his nature and surely even less if the man who just benefited from it tried to manipulate him. “I hope Dr Enys does not miss you.”

“He doesn’t. He is well entertained.”

“By more miners with a dry cough?” George asked with a hint of sarcasm.

Ross threw him an irritated look but his voice held the relaxed sound of a satisfied man. “Dr Enys tends to anyone who needs his help, rich or poor. He aims to cure people regardless of social status.”

“Ah,” George nodded. Evidently Ross hadn’t fallen out with Dwight. Or at least not in a way that undermined the strong bond between the two men. “Then I trust he is in no shortage of clients.”

“Indeed not,” Ross straightened his overcoat, more interested in his wardrobe than the conversation, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to and Dr Enys is waiting.”

George smiled thinly. “Of course.”

Without another word Ross walked past him and down the dingy alley, out of George’s sight in a matter of seconds. The departure was as sudden as Ross’ arrival had been. Despite his demeanour George hadn’t yet managed to shake the time between entirely. The sensation, the sounds and taste… the feeling of secrecy and the way Ross had found pleasure and release in his submissive position. George, on the other hand, longed for such release still. He picked up the cane and adjusted his coat discreetly, making sure that no one had any reason to suspect his state on his way to more private surroundings. He would pay the townhouse a visit after all.

* * * * * * *

It had been a while since Ross had left him in a hurry, roused by his carelessly chosen words. Dwight sighed as he came back from the bar, another mug of ale in his hand. The Inn was a little less crowded and the two groups next to their – well, his – table had thinned out, too. Dwight sat down on his chair heavily.

He shouldn’t have said it.

Mentioning Elizabeth to Ross was off limits and usually, Dwight steered clear of it. There was no use in agitating his friend further. But she had appeared so honestly troubled and in a rash moment, he had agreed to talk to him. Now he saw his mistake. Dwight stood by his opinion that forgiveness and friendship would help both of them come to terms with this situation. But for Ross, there was still a long way to go until he could accept any sort of civility by Elizabeth.

He really shouldn’t have said it.

“The dark Poldark and the young Warleggan?” an unfamiliar voice asked, not directed at him but close enough for Dwight to pick up on the well-known names. Scraps of conversation from the next table had drifted over to him ever so often, things of little importance had been discussed but now Dwight was all ears. The discussion’s source were two men to Dwight’s right, both miners if their clothes were any indication, heads put together in a scene of secrecy. The volume of their voices, however, made it impossible for the conversation to remain private.

“Oh yes,” the other man said and nodded in vigorous conviction, “Like dogs they go at it.”

His conversation partner gave a huff of surprise. “But those families?”

“I know… the blasted gentry and their wicked morals….”

Dwight’s eyes widened. Ross and George? In… compromising situations? For a moment he was tempted to laugh at those unfounded words. The meaning those men were veiling so thinly was a certain impossibility. Not only that, but also a huge disservice towards to Ross’ as well as George’s reputation. Dwight was not naturally at home in either the gentry or the working class but if he had learnt one thing over the course of his life and studies it was this: rumours, regardless of their quality, could prove to be dangerous.

“But wasn’t Poldark engaged to Ms Chynoweth?” the conversation went on.

“Married another Poldark. His cousin. And now he goes and lays that young banker on his back… intending to keep ‘im there, too, from what I heard.”

 _No, that is enough_. All earlier bouts of incredulous laughter had left Dwight. What remained was a growing feeling of anger in his stomach, making its way into his throat when he turned to the men at the next table and asked sharply, “Is it your purpose to agitate me?”

The one with the supposed information looked at him in confusion. “Sir?”

Dwight turned around properly now, facing him. “The Poldark you speak so ill of left this table not long ago and you spread those lies about him?”

“’Tisnt a lie, Sir. The Warleggan’s kitchen maid told us.”

This was outrageous. Not only rumours but also with a supposedly reliable source? Whatever George had done to these people must have hit them hard to come up with such accusations. Though it seemed curious that they were insistent on dragging Ross into this when he hadn’t done anything to wrong them. Dwight looked at the men sternly.

“I do not know which sort of eclectic taste Mr Warleggan fosters but I tell you that Mr Poldark is a man of immaculate character.”

“But she’d heard them, loud and clear. Echoing through the entire house, she says.”

The defiance in his tone roused Dwight’s anger further, turning his voice cold. “Do you doubt my word in exchange for the account by a kitchen maid?”

“No, Sir…” answered the man who had remained quiet until now, looking down at his mug of ale.

Dwight looked the other man in the eyes. “Stop telling those rumours and see to your own business.”

In that moment, the Inn’s door opened and Ross’ figure appeared on the threshold. Dwight threw the men another look, grabbed his mug and Ross’ hat and walked towards his friend.

“Ross, where have you been?” he asked in concern and handed over the hat, leading Ross to another free table, away from his recent company.

“Dwight,” Ross sat down opposite to him, “I am sorry.”

“No, don’t be…” Dwight took a closer look at Ross. The barely suppressed anger he had left with was entirely gone. In its stead Ross appeared… calm. Very calm.

“I know you meant well, Dwight,” he said in a soothing voice, looking at him apologetically, “I should not have become angry.”

The change in Ross was almost too perfect to be considered logical. A walk and a bit of fresh air rarely returned an angry man to such a relaxed mood. But Ross did not appear drunk or under the influence of any other drug – Dwight’s doctor instincts checked him almost without his doing – and a game of cards was just as unlikely. Dwight knew Ross’ routines better by now and he wasn’t one to gamble in town.

The doctor shrugged a little sheepishly. “It was insensitive of me to mention it.”

But if it weren’t any of Ross’ usual past times then what had made him calm down so fast? Before Dwight could stop himself his thoughts returned to the toxic words the two men next to him had exchanged.

Almost on cue George Warleggan entered the Inn, followed by three other men. Dwight’s face fell, immediately scared that his thoughts were plainly visible on his face. Ross followed his line of vision but the reaction Dwight had feared did not come. His friend could not have been more casual: he only glanced at the newly arrived businessmen shortly and turned his attention back on Dwight. No indication of recognition on George’s part, either, no look towards Ross if he even saw him in the first place. _No, it’s not possible_. Dwight felt a blush creep up his neck, a visible sign of his embarrassment. What a bad friend he was even thinking to believe those accusations for the fraction of a second.

“Are you alright, Dwight?” Ross asked, “I’m sorry I abandoned you in such a way. I trust you had interesting company all the same?”

 _I must tell him_. Sitting here, knowing more about Ross’ reputation and not even giving him the possibility to defend himself just wasn’t right. But Dwight also knew Ross’ temper. Both the chatty men as well as George were still in the Inn – a confrontation of sorts was almost inevitable and Dwight shied away from being the one who had made it possible in the first place. He had set off Ross once already today with careless words. No, there was nothing to be gained other than more cause for people to talk. His newfound knowledge was the subject of a conversation at a later point in time. When, he didn’t know – neither how he should broach the subject. _All in good time_.

Dwight cleared his throat, trying for a smile as he looked at Ross. “Well, let’s say I’d rather talk to you than listen to other peoples’ idle talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so consultingfili and I revisited the plan for this story yet again and split it in chapters. Hope you lovely people are on board for what looks suspiciously like roundabout 19 chapters in total? (number is subject to change... give or take one or two, depending on whether it pans out like I think it will...)
> 
> *nervous laughter*


	8. Nampara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight moves in with Ross, George has got a special something planned, and then there's a bit of a tense meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter contains historically inaccurate and anachronistic lingerie.**
> 
>  
> 
> Because of my ~~burning need~~ modest wish to see George in panties.  
>  Just thought I’d mention it because it’s not everyone’s cup of tea and rest assured it'll only be for this one chapter - I've got it out of my system for now :D
> 
> It's not cross dressing or feminisation or stockings and heels - really just pretty lacy panties.
> 
> If you're still in doubt take a moment to consider it in all its glory:  
> George Warleggan.  
> In panties. 
> 
> Hot damn.

Being a doctor in a mining community did indeed provide Dwight with plenty of work and possibilities to study a variety of work-related illnesses. But it also did not pay as well as he would like it to. Not that he was generally a person in need of the greatest comfort possible. Simple and clean lodgings were enough for his taste but about a month after his arrival he found himself in dire straits, financially speaking. The few visits to his patients of the gentry did not pay his rent sufficiently yet at the same time Dwight did not want to abandon the working class purely in pursuit of a bigger wage. Which had brought him to Ross’ house, again, asking if his initial offer of staying with him was still open.

“Of course, Dwight,” Ross answered, a warm smile on his lips, “you are welcome to stay as long as you like.”

“I’ll pay you rent as well as I can, of course.”

“No need. I’m glad to have company.”

A few days later Dwight moved in with Ross, setting up camp in the guest bedroom of the house. Though a tad smaller than the servant bedroom it faced west and was altogether less chilly and far more comfortable than Dwight’s accommodation in town. The sudden proximity in which they lived was no hardship at all: the two men had been friends for a long time and living together didn’t raise any problems between them. In fact, they did not see each other more than during the time they had lived apart. Ross was occupied with the mine and its possible extension, consulting the miners’ expertise and considering different scenarios. Dwight continued to care for the miners and the simple folk around the district. Most of them paid him in friendliness and in kind, and with the worry of paying the rent off his back, Dwight found that his working days were more relaxed and focussed on the main subject. When possible he and Ross had dinner together, exchanged news and talked idly like the old friends they were. The subject of Elizabeth was duly avoided – Dwight had learned his lesson in this respect and additionally, Ross seemed reasonably well. The more time passed the less jumpy he appeared, much to Dwight’s relief. Time did heal all wounds after all, as it appeared.

But from time to time Dwight’s thoughts returned to the men in the pub who had spoken so ill of Ross and George. He still hadn’t broached the subject to Ross; when he had considered the men’s talk in a quiet moment it had seemed like a silly thing to say, purely intended to shock, but unfounded. Ever since that afternoon Dwight also hadn’t heard any further rumours in the same vein. Which wasn’t to say there weren’t any but at least none that the miners in the district exchanged. Besides, now that Dwight lived at Nampara he was on scene and even though he did not intend to spy on Ross he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. No, those rumours were vicious but hopefully dying down.

For Ross his new housemate meant indeed a change. Dwight’s presence was good for him, no doubt. He was somewhat of a breath of fresh air: unlike Ross and his acquaintances he seemed so innocent, so young, and still convinced of his vocation and morals. Even though Ross didn’t hold any illusions as to his own morality it was refreshing to see it in Dwight and maybe the doctor’s enthusiasm could rub off on him. In any case his resentment towards Elizabeth receded slightly for Ross didn’t spend as much time thinking – or trying not to think – of her.

His meetings with George had to be planned more meticulously, though. Of course it would have been easiest to just meet at the Warleggan’s from there on out but Ross was insistent that George continued to visit him at Nampara as well: he surely wouldn’t be the one to run after George. The banker would call on him when Ross was certain that Dwight had a long day’s work ahead of him. Aside from this, Ross and George extended their list of meeting places to the Warleggan’s townhouse. A room at the Red Lion had also been a possibility but the townhouse was less overt and most of the time unoccupied anyway – instances like the rash blowjob in the alley weren’t necessary anymore. Though it had been incredibly enticing Ross’ head still started to spin when he thought back on the possibility of being caught. Their arrangement had also grown into something akin to an affair. Had they both been prone to uncomfortable and snide remarks before and after their demeanour towards each other was much less tense by now. Which didn’t mean that the behaviour in bed had changed. The dynamics worked for them perfectly well and if the more relaxed attitude had any influence it showed in a variety of ideas that the two men explored.

Ross had felt vaguely horny and restless from the morning on. Dwight was out all day so there was only work to take his mind off things until George visited him in the afternoon. The distinct possibility that his excitement derived from the anticipation of it was quickly discarded – maybe it was the drink he had had with his lunch. He took care of household chores, made sure that the servant bedroom was tidy and busied himself with paperwork, his fingers drumming a nervous pattern on the pages, until finally, George arrived. Ross’ impatience waned and excited relaxation took over as he opened the door. George gave his day much-needed structure through his fixedly scheduled visit. The time spent together was special, embedded in the day’s course yet a break from it all the same.

The unspoken rule that each man undressed on one side of the bed was also not as strict as in the beginning and largely determined by Ross’ mood; and today, he felt almost playful rather than driven from the moment George appeared on his doorstep. In fact, he would enjoy peeling away the impeccable set of clothing clinging to George’s lithe physique.

Ross himself was only dressed in breeches and a half-open shirt as he led George to the bedroom – the advantage of the banker visiting him and no other soul around for a few miles who might knock on his door. He pulled his shirt over his head while George did away with his boots and hung up his velvety black overcoat and grey waistcoat. How proper he pretended to be when Ross knew exactly how depraved his taste was. The thought made him smile in anticipation and in two large steps he walked over to George, grabbing his neck cloth to pull him into a kiss. George’s lips parted for him immediately but Ross kept the kiss easy if heated. He nipped lightly at George’s lower lip and sucked it into his mouth, leaving it red and shiny against his pale skin.

His fingers untangled the knot in the neck cloth while George’s hands danced over the buttons of his shirt, undoing them nimbly. Kerchief and shirt fell to the floor almost at the same time in a dull thud and Ross’ right stroked along George’s neck and into his hair, grabbing a fistful – not hard enough to make him gasp out but insistent. George certainly needed no reminder who was in charge but the action was an established one by now and made the kiss more exciting for Ross. His tongue licked into the other man’s warm mouth and George inadvertently pressed closer against him, his naked chest rubbing against Ross’.

Trailing along the well-built chest Ross brushed his hand over the front of George’s breeches, and the banker lightly thrust into his hand with a low moan. Ross evidently hadn’t been the only one feeling friskier than usual, he thought, even by George’s standards this moan was too wanton for the touches the brunet had offered so far. Who knew what he had done before, whether he had held back with the whores he surely entertained to be this eager for Ross. Maybe he had one of them prepare him, driving him to the edge only to be pulled back in time. Fuelled by this thought Ross felt himself harden further and leaned in to kiss George’s neck, sucking at the pale skin softly, his mouth denying him the pressure he knew he needed. Though the banker’s hands were placed almost chastely on Ross’ stomach, stroking over his muscles and following the trail of hair, he felt the fluttering pulse under his lips.

His hands moved to undo George’s breeches but instead of pulling them down entirely Ross slid his hand down the banker’s lower back to his cheek. It would be so easy to go for a quick and rough fuck considering the states they were both in but under his arousal Ross felt almost calm and inclined to take his time. His hand glided lower, along the lovely curve of the small of George’s back, the soft skin… his fingertips stumbled over another waistband and Ross’ hand stopped. _What…_ Whatever he was feeling under his fingers was indeed soft, silky even, but definitely no bare skin. His lips left George’s throat and he looked at him in a frown, the blue eyes holding a hint of mischief under the obvious excitement.

Ross shot him a quizzical glance but he couldn’t really put his question into words. Instead of waiting for George to offer an explanation both his hands took hold of the breeches. George remained standing calmly, waiting for him to undress him, and Ross pulled the garment down slowly, inch by inch in anticipation of what he was to find. Ross’ eyes followed what his hands were laying bare: pale skin, the flat stomach, the pointed hipbones – and a waistband adorned with a braided band of a discreet pattern.

_Holy hell._

His eyes widened as his brain caught up on what he was seeing; his fingers turned a bit clumsy as he pulled further.

Silk of a smoke blue clung to George’s skin, perfectly mirroring the colour of his eyes that were fixed on Ross’ face. Each cuff of the garment featured the border of the same pattern, appearing cheeky and decorative but providing the biggest possible disparity to the strong thighs and George’s overall athletic body. A contrast that Ross could neither grasp nor place in his sudden surprise. Using his moment of confusion George stepped out of his breeches entirely, revealing his legs that looked even longer through the cut of the lingerie, the silk covering only the topmost part of his thighs.

Ross swallowed heavily at the sight of George in front of him, dressed in nothing but this particular piece of lingerie. Not that he was a stranger to it; some of his whores had worn underwear such as this – though surely of lesser quality, the fabric on George looked expensive and had a dim shimmer to it. But seeing them on George was an entirely new experience. An intriguing one.

Before Ross could get another look, a _better_ look at the garment George stepped close to him. His hands undid Ross’ breeches and pulled them down just enough to free his cock. The gesture was one of familiarity but George did not touch him – his hands remained on the fabric and this acknowledgement of Ross being in charge made the brunet harder. Or was it teasing? He couldn’t say when George pressed against him, presenting himself at an angle but still making their bodies touch as much as possible. His right brushed over Ross’ ribs and his left carded through the chest hair in slow, sensuous strokes. The brunet’s pulse quickened at the proximity and the knowledge of George clad in silk, so close to him but denying him a closer look.

His lips kissed the base of Ross’ throat in a soft and gentle graze as he slowly rolled his hips into him. Ross barely bit back a gasp. George’s cock rubbed against him, hard but at the same time it felt so soft, the silk sliding over Ross’ own erection. His left moved to the waistband on George’s hip while his right grabbed his arse; George’s firm cheek fitted comfortably in his hand as he cupped it and thumbed over the silk. It wasn’t entirely smooth but featured little ripples – embroidery, Ross thought, and the picture that arose in his mind only made him more captivated.

“Do you like them?” George murmured against his throat, the first words he had spoken since their arrival in the bedroom.

And how he liked them. In fact, he liked to see them up close, follow the pattern with his eyes and hands, feel them with his mouth and tongue and tease George’s cock underneath, see him all dishevelled and make him come into the pretty silk.

Ross tightened his fingers around George’s arse and pressed him closer, teasing himself with the sensation that fed the visual in his mind. He stroked over the banker’s hip, mapping out the cut of the lingerie to add to his mental picture. Quite narrow on the side, exposing almost all of his leg, and the additional edging extending slightly over the border. The silk must feel even better for George and now Ross understood the needy moan from earlier – he had worn those garments on his way here already after all. The other man’s hips rolled slowly and in tiny moves but what aroused Ross even more was the little barely audible sigh that left George’s lips just before he dipped his tongue into the hollow of his throat. Ross’ breath hitched lightly, the sound skittering over his skin, followed by the soft lick of George’s tongue.

“Get on the bed,” Ross said in a low voice, rough with desire and a stark contrast to the soft movements George displayed.

His lips left Ross’ throat as he looked up at him with his sleepy eyes, glinting in excitement. He nodded faintly and stepped away from him but his hands lingered a moment longer on Ross’ side. Then, George turned his back to him and made towards the bed. Ross’ eyes were drawn by the smooth way he walked but what really caught his attention was the back of the panties, featuring a detail he hadn’t noticed yet. The waistband wasn’t consistent as such but ended halfway along the middle of George’s back to give way to a cut-out in the shape of a low curve. Above it, extending the waistband, two laces were tied to form a bow. In normal circumstances Ross would’ve laughed at the frankly absurd decoration but hell, it looked like it belonged there on George’s pretty round arse, a present for Ross to unwrap.

Ross stripped himself of his breeches quickly without letting his eyes stray from George. The banker all but crawled onto the bed. His long back stretched and Ross watched the shoulders move, the torso follow and the way George’s arse swung with that ridiculous bow to accentuate it… the brunet licked his dry lips. That really shouldn’t be so enticing.

Another effortless move and George sat back on his heels, positioned so that Ross saw the curved line of his backside but also his spread legs. His head was slightly bowed, his hands resting on his thighs. Ross’ line of vision to his cock was party obstructed but his mind filled in effortlessly as he watched George sit there like an expensive treat in a storefront window, carefully arranged and decorated. He could picture the erection straining the silk, George’s hands rubbing over his own thighs – for a moment Ross considered to let him get off by his own hands and just enjoy the show. But no, making him shiver and gasp was just too delicious to pass up.

Ross closed the distance to the bed and as he moved the almost hypnotic state he had been in disappeared completely. In its stead a rush of arousal shot through his body when his eyes met George’s, the blue mirroring the silk that he was so eager to explore. He joined George on the bed, kneeling in front of him, and grabbed a handful of his cotton hair. Ross’ right moved immediately back to his arse as he kissed him deeply, this time forcefully pulling him in and closing the distance between them. George gave a low chuckle at the sudden change of pace and placed his hands on Ross’ side. As if to join the colour of the silk George tasted faintly of lavender, luring Ross in and making him moan into the kiss. His hips were rolling into the other man now without restraint and the rub of the silk teased his erection with every move.

Ross ran one finger under the cuff of the lingerie, on the back of George’s thigh. The soft fabric rubbed against his finger and George’s soft skin almost lined up with the impression if it weren’t for the strong muscles underneath. His breath hitched as the brunet outlined the part where his leg met his cheek under the silken decoration and moved his hips accordingly, trying to make the most of what Ross was teasing to do. He pushed further and George gave a low moan and a deeper thrust in tune. _So eager to have my hands on you_. But before Ross’ finger could slide between his butt cheeks he withdrew his hand and grabbed George, flinging him onto his back.

The banker’s irritated huff turned into a gasp of surprise as Ross took over and his back hit the mattress. In a smooth move he straddled him and leaned over George, his thighs tightening around him as his cock rubbed against the silk-clad erection. Ross gave a low groan and started to grind his hips without a second thought – the cool fabric felt so _good_ on his skin, and the little moans George gave… the banker’s hands darted forward and Ross let him grab his hips. The hold was light, the fingers running over his skin softly, almost tentatively, towards his thighs. Ross braced himself on his left, placed next to George’s head, while his right grabbed his hair and pulled the banker into a heated kiss. George moaned into his mouth, craning his neck to reach more of Ross’ lips. His hands stroked over Ross’ hipbone and when they slid over to cup his arse the brunet broke the kiss, took hold of his wrists and pinned his hands over George’s head. The banker’s eyes stared up at him, glazed with lust, and Ross made the next thrust deeper. George’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his wrists pushing against the grip in a purely symbolic sign of resistance – Ross knew he could easily free himself but the fact that George submitted to this position willingly gave him another rush to the head. George’s breaths became ragged when Ross licked down the side of his throat, his strained “Ross…” vibrating against his mouth. Ross grabbed his wrists with one hand now, his right stroking along the well-built chest while his mouth made for the nipple. Knowing just how sensitive George was Ross let his tongue dart out and licked over the hard nipple, quickly, just grazing it. And indeed: his chest moved under the touch and the banker gave a stifled moan that prompted Ross to lick over it again, slower and harder before nipping at it lightly. George’s hips were rolling and he pressed his chest closer to Ross’ mouth but he made no attempt of touching him; his fingers were busy grabbing the sheet as Ross worked his way down his chest with wet kisses. His stubble scratched over the skin of his stomach to the sound of the banker’s moans as he licked and sucked at the heaving torso. How lustful George sounded, how excited, winding under his weight… and Ross hadn’t even reached the hem of the lingerie.

But as much fun as the teasing was Ross himself was eager to move things along. He let go of George’s hands and slid down to position himself between the banker’s legs, all the while stroking along the slender sides of his body. His hands moved over George’s hips and stopped at his thighs, keeping them apart and in a tight grip. George’s breathing took on a deeper sound but hitched when Ross bit playfully at the taut skin under his belly button. Then, he ran his tongue along the lace border of the silken garment – a discreet flower pattern, as he noticed now – and enjoyed the growl the other man gave inadvertently before taking in what was offered so languidly in front of him.

God, this was quite the unholy sight: George’s erection was straining the thin silk, the beautiful bulge all but presenting itself to Ross. For a moment only his eyes followed the clear outline of George’s hard cock, the innocent blue colour a wonderful contrast to what they were doing. In his grip, George squirmed lightly, his hips rolling to find friction that Ross denied him but the brunet wasn’t yet done with admiring the view. The silk wasn’t entirely smooth and up close he finally saw what he had only felt before. Embroidery in the shape of thin vines spread over the fabric, entangled in each other and forming a loose pattern of a lighter blue.

“Ross,” George’s breathless plea sounded as he stared down the length of his body to meet Ross’ eyes.

The brunet’s lips curled into a smile, raised an eyebrow in commentary and lowered his mouth to George’s groin. Who was to say that he couldn’t give the banker a hint of release without fuelling his need further? George would beg for him before this was over. Ross tongue darted out, the tip meeting the upper edging of the lingerie and followed the curves of the embroidered vine along George’s cock. The mattress moved as George let himself fall on his back, a throaty groan accompanying it as Ross’ tongue ran down his erection in winding lines. The silk tasted faintly of lavender, too, but underneath Ross detected George’s own scent. He moved his tongue deeper to flick against his testicles and make his way up again, this time mouthing kisses on the clothed erection. Then, he picked another vine and repeated the movement – down, licking, up, kissing. George writhed on the sheets but Ross’ firm grip and the pressure of his fingers told him to keep still; a command he followed with effort, grabbing the sheets tighter.

Once Ross was sure George had himself somewhat under control his hands moved to the lace border and he hooked two fingers on either side of his hips into the waistband. His mouth didn’t stop to kiss George’s bulge as he dragged the waistband down just enough to free the tip of the banker’s cock. George’s hand slid down his stomach but before he could touch himself Ross’ mouth closed around the exposed head.

“Ross,” George gasped and thrust his hips upwards but the brunet had closed his grip again, pressing him into the mattress while he sucked playfully. His tongue swirled around the tip and when he pulled off with a wet sound George gave a frustrated groan and spread his legs further under Ross’ touches. The brunet smiled to himself when George flexed his right leg and propped it up in an attempt to give Ross better access. The message was clear: George needed more and it was up to Ross to agree or deny him. His tongue explored the lines of embroidery again, leaving the silk slightly damp when Ross decided for the former: his right closed around George’s cock and jerked him slowly, through the lingerie, while his mouth moved to the side of his groin. His hands adjusted to grab the outside of George’s leg and Ross pressed lingering kisses on the other man’s inner thigh, feeling the muscles quiver under his mouth _. Good. I like you on edge like that_. And playing with the pretty display had Ross’ own hips rolling lightly into the sheets as well, turned on by the clear effect he had on George. The banker was not one to hide his pleasure in the first place but he was panting heavily now, squirming under the devoted attention Ross gave his cock. His chest heaved and a strand of his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead as he held on to the sheets, his lips producing sounds of pleasure, of longing, of need. A last kissed trail and a cheeky kiss on the tip of George’s cock and Ross withdrew his mouth.

“Turn around,” he said in a low voice and George braced himself on his elbows to look at him with glazed eyes. Registering his words the banker started to move, Ross’ hands helping him along and turning him onto his stomach in a smooth move.

George grabbed the pillow that lay on the far end of the bed and buried his head in it as he tried to muffle his moan. His hips were rocking against the bedding impatiently and from between his legs Ross saw the motion running through George’s body in a wave: the small arse ground into the sheets, making the ribbon on the back of his lingerie sway, travelling into the curve of his lower back and up his sides to his shoulders and into the neck, ending its path in the pillow before it started anew. Ross watched the lithe body move in fascination and arousal – he had been the one to bring George into this state and because of him the muscles under the smooth skin tightened and relaxed again, a beautiful ensemble playing out on his shoulder blades.

Ross ran his hands over the banker’s clothed arse, slowly, savouring both the show and the smooth feeling the silk left on his rough hands. George’s legs spread further at the touch and a moaned plea reached Ross’ ear muffled and almost incomprehensible, swallowed by the pillow.

Ross’ right stroked along the small of his back and up to his ribs when he clicked his tongue in a disapproving _tsk_. George’s hips slowed down on cue but that was not what Ross wanted.

“Don’t mute yourself, George,” Ross said, giving his voice an almost velvety sound – as far as he was still able to do so, his lust making him sound rougher than usual. “I want to hear you.”

The mop of George’s hair he could see from his vantage point moved, lifted up from the pillow. George still grabbed the pillow but turned his head to the sound of Ross’ voice. His arse moved under Ross’ hands, slightly elevating with the movement, as he looked at the brunet over his shoulder. Ross’ grip became tighter and a quiet gasp stumbled over his lips: George’s eyes were wide and glazed in an expression of pure lust but still he looked at him from under his lashes, a devout gaze that burned through Ross. His lips were parted and red, his hair in disarray as he murmured a strained “Yes”, the muscles in his back still moving. An animate version of the vines on the silk.

“God, George…” Ross rasped and his eyes followed the line of his back down to the tied bow on the lingerie’s waistband, “look at you… look at your pretty arse.”

Ross’ hands had made the silk shift a little and as he set out to kiss the lacy cuff on George’s left thigh he noticed a birthmark that had lined up with the fabric before. He circled it with his tongue and closed his mouth over it, sucking lightly. George’s moan was a constant now; the muscles twitched with every touch as Ross’ hands rubbed over the firm butt cheeks, over the embroidery. His right moved up and grasped the ribbon of the bow, pulling slowly and watching the laces untangle and fall open. _Like a gift indeed_. George’s hips moved without his consent as he writhed on the sheets, presenting his arse in delightful positions. Adjusting his grip and timing it with the next roll of his hips Ross leaned forward and licked a long, wet stripe over George’s clothed entrance.

“Ross!” the banker choked out and buried his head in the pillow again only to turn his head when he remembered the command he had been given earlier. The need in his voice went directly to Ross’ own neglected cock but having George on display before him, spread out and ready to be fucked, his attention lay elsewhere – namely between the silk-clad cheeks that fitted so perfectly into his hands. He lightly bit into the curve of the right one and squeezed his arse before he bowed down again to repeat the action: a faster lick now and George’s muscles quivered when Ross outlined his entrance in a slow circle. The silk was damp from his saliva and whichever oil George had used to prepare himself and the thought of him riding to Nampara all stretched for him and dressed in expensive lingerie made Ross give a growl. He dipped his tongue into the hole and under him George almost arched off the bed if it hadn’t been for his tight grip. The banker all but whimpered, ragged sounds making it out into the open; a panting mess under Ross’ tongue.

Ross was tempted to stroke himself but he wasn’t too sure if he could stop in time. His arousal was verging on need now too as he kissed a trail up to the small of George’s back, along the silk and onto the skin, making his way upwards. The faint smell of lavender was barely noticeable anymore; instead Ross tasted salt and lust that only fuelled his own. With every nipping kiss his anticipation grew – he needed to press George into the mattress with deep thrusts, _now_ , bury himself in between those perky cheeks.

Bracing himself on his arms Ross changed his position and placed his legs on either side of George. His cock brushed up against the silk and both their moans sounded in the bedroom, George with a hitch and Ross a low growl.

“Please, Ross,” George panted and Ross’ fingers reached down to the other man’s arse. For a moment he thought of pulling the garment down when his mind provided him with an alternative – after all he wanted to take George while he was still dressed up for him, his cock trapped in the silk. Breathing heavily against George’s neck Ross found the lingerie’s hem, pulled it to the side, and pushed into him with a sharp thrust.

George’s wanton moan silenced the growl that came out of Ross’ throat – the sound made the brunet push deeper for a moment, wanting to fill him up and have him winding around his cock in desperate dependence. Ross’ groin brushed up against the wayward silk, giving him a light teasing sensation in the midst of his intense need, spreading arousal through his body.

“Christ, George,” he groaned and stroked over the silk covering the banker’s moving hip. George only whimpered at the almost motionless cock inside him, thrusting up as well as he could when Ross’ hips took on a life of their own. No slow start or any hint of the teasing in the beginning was left – from the moment he moved he thrust into George fast and hard. The banker’s right reached out to clutch his neck but Ross took a hold of his wrist, pinning it next to his head on the mattress. The action changed his angle slightly and his cock was pushing deeper into George now; he shuddered under Ross’ thrusts and the brunet groaned when George joined his new rhythm. His arse was moving in perfect sync as he took him in entirely – the sensation almost driving Ross insane. His hand moved upwards from George’s hips, his nails dragging sharply over the skin once he reached the hem of the lingerie, while the banker continued to move.

Ross’ mouth was dry, his lips felt chapped as they met the hot skin on George’s bony shoulder. He felt the muscles shifting in strained moves and with the next thrust burying himself deeply in George Ross bit into the curve of the shoulder. His teeth dug into the banker’s skin a little deeper than he planned and George gave a throaty groan of pleasure and pain alike and bucked his hips harder. Ross’ hand around George’s wrist tightened unconsciously as he rode out the sudden movement, groaning and panting against the red mark he had left on the shoulder.

God, how good it felt to move inside George, slick and hot and the silk rubbing along his cock with every other thrust. George’s left clawed at the sheets and his neck and hairline were wet with sweat that left a salty taste on Ross’ lips. The brunet placed messy kisses along the side of George’s throat and onto the side of his mouth until he found his lips. Their kiss hardly deserved the name; their mouths and tongues crashed together as Ross pounded into him, driven and with a need that did not seem to find an end.

“Ross…” George drawled, “Don’t stop, oh god…”

Ross had no intention of stopping. In fact he didn’t even register the almost command George had uttered as he thrust deeper, every nerve ending alert. His head was dizzy in the best possible way, his body providing countless different sensations while his cock slid in and out of George, dressed-up George whose erection was trapped in silk, wet from oil, saliva and soon enough his release. Low in his stomach Ross could feel his orgasm was building fast and under him George was shivering – the banker was almost as far gone as he.

“Ross…” George gasped out, “god, please go harder…”

George’s moan turned into a hoarse shout when Ross snapped his hips harder on instinct rather than on command. Ross’ mind was spinning and his body felt on fire as George’s words crashed through him, panting, shivering, compliant George in his silks, addicted to his touches, pleading for him… His thrusts sped up and he was skirting closer to the edge.

“George…” Ross groaned into his ear, the name and the knowledge of what he was about to say turning him on further, “Come into those pretty silks for me. I want you to make a mess of them.”

George’s chest heaved in short breaths and he could only give a strained “Yes… Ross!” before his voice got lost in his throat. The lithe body bucked, twisted under Ross when George did what he was told and peaked with a breathless moan. Ross pressed deeper into him, his sweat-covered chest stuck against the banker’s back as he trembled in a series of contractions, hands grabbing the sheet and head buried in the pillow. The friction on Ross’ cock was amazing; George tightened around him in a feeling that let his pulse gave another jump and with the next thrust he followed the banker, spilling into him with force. His hips moved relentlessly, his legs quivered, his lips producing sounds he didn’t remember making as his orgasm shot through his entire body. George squirmed under him in ragged breaths of pleasure joining his own. Collapsing on George’s back Ross gasped against his neck, dragging his lips over the soft skin and riding out his orgasm in decelerating thrusts.

Ross’ head was spinning as he lay there, George’s body almost buried under him but feeling so tough under the soft skin. He deeply inhaled the banker’s scent of sweat and sex as he tried to catch his breath. God, that had been intense, even for their standards. Prior to today Ross hadn’t imagined that the sight of George in silken undergarments could set him off in that way – he hadn’t imagined it at all. But George, crafty, kinky George and his inspirational ideas…

Under him, George was breathing heavily still though his grip on the sheets had loosened and Ross withdrew his hand from the wrist he had held on to so tightly. Letting his arm fall to the side he moved to brace himself on it. His blood was still rushing in his ears when he slid out of George and rolled off him in a haze, letting himself fall on his back next to him.

Sprawled out on the mattress George stirred lightly once Ross’ weight was off him. The bite on his shoulder shone in a dim red, the back was shiny from sweat and the silk clung to his arse but exposing most of the skin. On instinct, Ross reached over to run his hand over the fabric damp with both their fluids – like he had wanted and like George surely had planned beforehand. The banker huffed lightly at the touch but made no further attempt at moving. How spent they both were, Ross thought, and before he could give in to the pleasant drowsiness that threatened to overcome him he moved with heavy limps, gathered his clothes and left the bedroom.

 

* * * * * * * * *

Dwight was relieved as the gates of Nampara appeared in his field of vision. Not long and he could finally fix himself something to eat after the long day he had had. The only downside of living with Ross was the distance to his patients in Truro. His main clientele was still consisting of the miners but a few people in Truro had heard of his modest successes and demanded a visit from him from time to time. Dwight was delighted that his reputation preceded him in such a positive way and planned the visits as good as he could. Today, on the way back, he had also stopped by at the dwelling of Ross’ tenants. It had been a productive if exhausting day.

When Dwight rode onto the property he found it occupied: the door was open and on the courtyard Ross was standing in breeches, boots and a buttoned shirt. Next to him, holding his horse by the reins, Dwight made out George Warleggan. The doctor looked on in surprise; it had been a while since he had heard or seen anything of George. The season of excessive parties and balls was yet to come and delivering an invitation had surely not been the reason for him being here.

“Mr Warleggan?” Dwight asked and descended from his horse, leading her towards the two men.

“Ah, Dr Enys,” he replied, tipping his head in greeting, “I hear you live at Nampara now?”

“I do,” Dwight nodded, “What brings you here?”

The question was one out of pure curiosity and if it held a hint of irritation George did not notice. Ross, on the other hand, looked at Dwight sternly and crossed his arms.

George smiled at him amiably. “Ross and I had a conversation as to the state of the nation, so to speak.”

Dwight raised an eyebrow. What a pretentious way to speak. Even after numerous card games and social encounters with him George’s way of phrasing things, simple enough things at that, struck him as odd. But who knew, maybe it was his way of severing all bonds with his humble beginnings. Right now, though, Dwight didn’t have the taste for vagueness.

“And what is that?” he asked.

Ross shot him a glance Dwight couldn’t decipher and said quickly, “We discussed business matters, Dwight.”

“I hope there isn’t a problem that needs solving?”

It was George who answered. “Well, I do not wish to bore you with mining and banking intricacies but rest assured everything is in perfect order.”

Whether or not it had been in perfect order before he came to visit Ross Dwight could not determine by his words – and involuntarily, his mind returned to the gossiping miners back at the Inn not long ago. _No_. He tried to dismiss the thought immediately. It was only the strain of the long day that played tricks on him, matching the protagonists of the rumours to the men in front of him in such a malicious way.

“Dwight, how is Jenny?” Ross changed the subject, “You did see her, didn’t you?”

“She is fine,” Dwight answered automatically but now that his thoughts had taken a certain direction it was difficult not to pursue the implications further. This meeting was strange, somehow, and it was not only George’s presence. No, come to think of it Ross was the one behaving in odd terms. He seemed… agitated? Or nervous.

“It shouldn’t be too long until she has her baby,” Dwight added but failing to conjure up his usual dedication when talking about his work.

Ross nodded and uncrossed his arms. “Good, that’s…”

“Though I must say,” Dwight interrupted him and turned his attention back to George, “I am surprised to find you here, Mr Warleggan.”

 _Don’t make it worse_. But as much as Dwight wanted to just let it go and discard the toxic thoughts that had apparently made a home in his head – he couldn’t. If he asked outright maybe George gave him an answer that was not only convincing but true.

Ross shot him a warning look. “Dwight…”

Yet George merely bowed his head. “I did not wish to intrude.”

“And I do not aim to offer you insult,” Dwight assured him honestly, “It just strikes me as odd that you discuss business matters in private surroundings.”

 _It can’t be true. Stop asking, get inside the house and forget the entire thing_. He should have just accepted the business explanation and left it at that. In fact, he didn’t even want to have this conversation. Not in this weird constellation, not after a hard day’s work, especially not after having thought the rumours had died down. And maybe they had but that didn’t change that Dwight couldn’t help but see this meeting in a different light. He really should have stayed a moment longer at the dwelling – ten minutes would have been enough to miss George and avoid this situation.

The banker, however, did not give the impression of a man caught red-handed. He considered Dwight’s statement and said with a smile, “You are not the only one to pay house calls, Dr Enys. Our vocation may differ but we both work with people.”

Dwight nodded neutrally. “Indeed.”

Before either of the men could go into further detail Ross looked at him sternly if not unfriendly. “Dwight, I’m sure you had a long day.”

Dwight got the hint. Ross was right – he was behaving rudely, letting the chaos in his mind cloud the evidence he had before him. Ross and George were both concerned with mining and finances after all. It was something akin to treason to believe otherwise. His long ride had really taken its toll.

“Excuse my impertinence, Mr Warleggan,” Dwight said, “I did not mean to offend you. It has been a long day indeed and I shall find my way back to my usual self after dinner.”

“No harm done, Dr Enys,” George answered quickly, “Please be assured that all business matters are taken care of with the utmost professionalism, regardless of the surroundings.”

“Of course.”

“Then I will not stand between you and your deserved evening off any longer. Gentlemen.”

George got on his horse and nodded at Ross and Dwight, leaving the property the way Dwight had just come in. Once the clatter of hooves was sure to die down Dwight shot Ross a questioning look. Even without rumours this meeting deserved some kind of context. Whether or not Dwight was entitled to it was another thing entirely.

Ross caught his eyes, his unspoken question and for a moment they looked at each other. Then, Ross grabbed the reins of Dwight’s horse and said, “Why don’t you go inside and let me take care of her.”

And just like that the topic was dropped.

 


	9. George's Bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross and George's affair continues and there's a pending inviation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've said it before but: YOU PEOPLE ARE JUST SO NICE AND LOVELY! Thank you so so much for reading and posting those absolutely awesome comments on the last chapter(s)! Seriously, it means so much to me and makes writing this just a pure joy. You're awesome. What a fantastic mini-ship :)

“Come on George, talk to me,” Ross’ low voice rang in his ears, “What do you want me to do to you?”

A gush of hot breath washed over George’s middle as a trail of goose bumps broke out on his skin. They ran up his ribcage, tickling and teasing him while Ross’ fingers slowly moved in and out of him.

He was lying on his right side, his naked body covered in a thin layer of sweat even though the sheet under him still felt somewhat cool. Positioned in his back Ross was once again invisible to him but George could imagine the intensity in his gaze. He almost _felt_ the brunet’s eyes travelling along his side, looks like pinpricks on his skin, until Ross’ mouth met his hips. George shivered at the surprisingly soft kiss and bit his lip as Ross changed the angle of his fingers as if by accident. He did it almost leisurely; maybe that was what made George so hard in such a laughable short amount of time. Ross knew exactly what he was doing, casual demeanour or no, and George was fully aware of the light wheeze he couldn’t stop his throat from producing every time the fingers withdrew partly only to push into him again.

George bit his lip as he tried to work up the courage to answer Ross’ question. He wasn’t at loss for a reply as such; his ideas about Ross taking advantage of his body were numerous, had always been, even in their school days – though those ideas had been of a more innocent nature than the notions surging through his mind now. But to be asked outright like this, with Ross demanding a coherent answer that extended monosyllabic admissions of his dominance, was a novelty. An exciting one.

“Another finger…” George managed to say, the first thing that came to mind, the first thing he felt he could put into words and ask of Ross.

“So modest.”

He chuckled darkly against the banker’s middle as George rolled his hips slowly against Ross’ hand, arousal spreading evenly through his body in a warm wave. It was calm and easy for now, no rushed beginning – which usually meant that Ross had a special plan on his mind rather than being after quick release. His mouth followed the movement of George’s body, dragging over the mellow curve of his arse, nipping lightly at the skin. George’s pulse jumped at the sudden nibble and turned further to the side, presenting more of his back to Ross and hoping that he didn’t hear the low moan he couldn’t stop. Not that it mattered – Ross knew very well the effect he had on him and could threaten his resolve with a calculated brush of his hand. The little bite made George want to move on from even arousal to a more pointed form of pleasure. But this was not for him to decide.

George spread his legs further, reiterating his words with his body, and just as he wondered whether Ross had any intention of adhering to his wish the drag of his fingers stopped. Ross must be up to his knuckles in him, George thought, the image arising in his mind prompting his hips to push back a little further. God, these long fingers inside him made it impossible for him to stop his body from moving, hoping for friction that Ross was denying him. He was tempted to look over his shoulder, watch Ross’ expression, his hands, his chest, his cock George wanted to have inside him sooner rather than later when he felt another finger against his hole. George breathed out slowly, his moving hips rubbing his sensitive entrance against Ross’ motionless hand and with the second thrust the teasing sensation gave way to the feeling of Ross’ finger sliding inside him. _Yes…_ Ross’ other fingers still remained motionless inside him while it moved along them slowly, stretching him further. George’s eyes fluttered shut, mindful of every move and twitch of Ross’ fingers massaging him but what really sent his pulse racing was the fact that Ross was actually carrying out his words. George gave a low growl as the fingers rubbed along his passage, a fuller feeling now, a nice stretch that sent another ripple of heat through him. His fingers grabbed the sheet loosely to resist the temptation of stroking himself in tune with Ross’ thrusts; his cock was hard but he wouldn’t cut Ross’ handling of his body short. Sighing wantonly he gave himself over to the sensation of the enticing friction. Ross shuffled in his back and his lips moved upwards from the banker’s middle, leaving a wet trail along his side. His stubble scratched lightly over George’s skin, the soft curls of his surely unruly hair following up as Ross’ fingers moved inside him and with the next thrust he dragged slowly, leisurely over George’s sweet spot.

“Ro-ss,” George moaned with a hitch at the drawn-out move – no sudden stroke of pressure surged through him but rather a growing feeling of pleasure that unfolded, gaining gradually in intensity and making his muscles tremble.

His left darted out and he twisted his torso back, grabbing Ross by the neck and pulling him into a deep kiss. Ross’ free hand followed the movement of his body in a smooth stroke; his fingers brushed over his ribcage and over his presented nipple. George moaned lightly into his warm mouth at the touch and Ross’ hand moved on, stroking over his stomach and ending on his hips without having touched his cock. Ross’ right continued to finger him open in varying pace and _god, this was_ _so good_ … George’s body was all but pulsating with that even lust the touches were building up, none of them enough to bring him closer to the edge but feeling oh so enticing. Ross’ tongue teased him, making him twist his upper body further and before George could grab more of the dark curls he broke the kiss.

“What else?” Ross asked, voice husky as he breathed into George’s neck.

The banker moaned and moved his hips a little faster, an incentive for Ross to act on. The loss of his soft lips on his skin made George return to the moment – a moment in which he wanted more than fingers and kisses. Ross sounded so rough and so far he hadn’t gotten any gratification, come to think of it. In the back of his mind George registered this as noteworthy and surely it meant something but his growing need pushed that thought away.

“Whatever you want,” he answered hoarsely, buzzing with anticipation. No doubt Ross would take what he needed and in the process George would get off, too, come on the touches and the knowledge that the brunet was having his way with him, playing him like a fiddle. A circumstance that never failed to arouse him.

“Oh no, not this time,” Ross said and George could hear the smirk in his voice, “You’ll have to say it, George, I want to hear it.”

George groaned in frustration when the fingers brushed over his prostate again. Only then did the meaning of his words hit him.

_You’ll have to say it._

His mouth ran dry as the idea unfolded in his mind. Ross wanted him to talk. No, not simply talk, but to tell him what he wanted him to do. It almost seemed like George would be giving the orders, directing him according to his taste. But still Ross asked the questions, entirely in charge of George’s body, his agreement to the suggestions not predefined. Whatever George would say qualified neither as a command nor a plea. A special blend of power play.

George licked his dry lips and tried to get his breathing somewhat under control. But to no avail – he was wheezing under Ross’ attention and his mind drew a blank. What to ask of him? George moaned another time, rolling his hips, Ross’ fingers moving inside him, his cock hard and untouched, Ross’ warm lips…

“Your mouth…” George gasped out before the chaos of notions and images had a chance to sort itself out.

“Yes…?” Ross asked, teasing in tone and keeping up his fingering just easy enough for George to be distracted.

“Would you…” he began but stopped mid-sentence, unsure how to phrase what he wanted. Which was in itself ridiculous – between the two of them he was the one who used language deliberately rather than sputtering out imprudent words that barely carried the intricacies he wanted to convey.

“Three fingers up your tight arse and still so polite,” Ross murmured into his ear, the words flowing smoothly from his lips and sent a shiver through George’s body. He loved it when Ross talked in such immodest language; something about it made George tick. The open proclamation of words usually unspoken only heightened the indecency they were indulging in, giving it an existence beyond the physical. Ross’ dominance, his own submission – it all gained another level that had George on edge as he greedily soaked it up.

But now that Ross demanded the same of him he found himself turning reluctant, almost shy. It was not for lack of vocabulary: the words were in his mind but giving sound to them felt somehow... strange.

“I want…” he started anew and to his dismay felt a blush creeping up his cheeks as he tried to gather words and courage for a second attempt. _It’s only words. You’ve imagined way more than this_. “I want you to suck me.”

The sharp sound of the operative word came out a little muffled as George pressed his head into the pillow again. A rush went to his head as the words hung in the air between them, existing now outside of his mind. And in his voice no less. Linked to him and proof of his desire, his thoughts, of things unnamed.

“Where?” Ross asked hoarsely and dragged his lips over George’s neck, making him moan. No suction or even the hint of a kiss – only the shadow of a sensation that the banker desired more with every passing moment.

“Ross…” he begged, fingers grabbing the sheet tighter now. He had said what he wanted, wasn’t that enough? George’s cheeks were still burning in faint embarrassment while his body was buzzing with excitement verging on need. He moved his hips against the other man’s fingers, trying to get him to _do_ something, or rather to make him do what he had just put into words, but in his back Ross only slowed down the movement of his hand.

“Tell me,” Ross murmured into his ear and George groaned deeply when his fingers delivered another slow, slow drag over his sweet spot. Pleasure washed through his entire body but Ross didn’t give enough pressure for him to come closer to the edge, keeping him in a trapping balance, all but driving him insane with the minimalist strokes and his cock, untouched like most of his body and _god, just take me already, Ross, I need more, now, touch_ …

“My cock,” George gasped out, “I want your mouth on my cock…”

His head was spinning as the words fell from his lips without a second thought, interrupted only by a huffed intake of breath. Behind him Ross gave a low chuckle and the next thing George felt were his fingers withdrawing from his body. _No_ … He whimpered when what little friction there was died down completely, leaving him feeling empty and quivering with need. For the fraction of a second George suspected that he had been too forward, asking such a thing of Ross, but then the brunet moved, crawling over him.

George’s eyes grew wide as he understood that Ross was following his words. He rolled on his back, propped himself up on his elbows and spread his legs immediately, watching Ross position himself between them.

He looked about as aroused as George felt: his eyes held that special kind of intensity, giving way to flushed cheeks and slightly opened lips. A stray curl defied its position behind his ear; it fell into his face, almost aligning with the scar on the side of his cheek. Holding his gaze Ross ran his hands over George’s thighs and when they reached his hipbones the movement stopped. The muscles in the banker’s thighs trembled as Ross’ hands avoided his cock and grabbed his hips in the familiar tight grip that had marked up George’s skin more than once.

The sight of Ross between his legs was exhilarating. George’s heart was beating heavily against his ribcage when Ross lowered his head without preamble, his tongue licking over the tip of George’s cock. The banker gasped and before the sound had fully left his throat Ross had closed his lips around the head and swallowed him down. _Oh god_. A hot feeling spread through his groin as the brunet’s mouth slid down the length of his cock in one smooth motion, warm, slick and with a pressure that made George give a panting “Ross” as his hips moved against the grip without his consent.

Ross Poldark was sucking his cock. George could hardly believe it. This situation had never been more than a wet dream for him, Ross’ lips around his cock, not in a serving way but keeping their clear dynamic. Difficult enough but George’s hope had been the lingerie and it had proven to be a suitable way to get Ross’ mouth on him – and indeed there had been nothing meek about his position. Just as there was his seductive dominance now in the way Ross made him talk and graciously granted his wish.

George’s chest heaved in deep breaths and his eyes were fixed on Ross, his head moving between his legs, the rest of his gorgeous body on display; the muscles in his broad shoulders moving lightly as he adjusted his hold on George’s hips, the long line of his back with his slim sides, the curve of his firm arse… George moaned when Ross sucked a little harder and sped up the pace. He wasn’t teasing or taking his time – no, this was a direct approach and _god_ , did it feel good. George’s right reached for the curly head and closed his fist around his hair in a loose grip.

Ross’ lips on his cock felt simply amazing. It was better, way better than George had imagined in the privacy of his bedroom, way better than he had anticipated when Ross had licked him through the silk. Without any barrier between them George was writhing under his mouth and Ross’ stubble scratched along the inside of his thighs with every other bob of his head, sending sparks through him. The low sounds of Ross groaning around his wet cock joined George’s moans as he was skirting closer to the edge. His arms ached from holding his weight and George let himself fall on his back, shortly closing his eyes to enjoy every last feeling of Ross’ tongue flicking against his cock. He could ask Ross to put his fingers back inside him, ask him to nail his prostate while sucking him off and come down his throat… but his breath was coming far too short for any sort of coherent sentence and even though the idea was arousing beyond measure George wanted to come on Ross’ cock.

“Stop, Ross…” he moaned with difficulty, opening his eyes and looking down the length of his sweaty torso.

His hand held most of Ross’ hair out of his face, giving George the view of his lips still firmly wrapped around his cock. At his words Ross looked up; his pupils were huge with lust but they seemed to watch him with certain aloofness, a gleam that spoke of Ross’ complacence. Then, he pulled off slowly, his eyes never leaving George’s. The banker gave a muffled moan at the suction and the drag of his tongue along the underside – seeing his cock leave Ross’ mouth inch by inch was a picture he wouldn’t shake for a long time and right now his wish for Ross to stop began to seem like the stupidest decision he had ever made. But knowing the brunet would take him and make him talk, George pressed his lips together to keep himself from retracting his words as Ross’ mouth pulled off his cock entirely.

Ross lingered between his legs, looking flushed yet not like a man who had just given head. He shot George a questioning look with one eyebrow lightly raised as if waiting for an answer to a simple inquiry. Waiting for him to speak, knowing fully well which chaos reigned in George’s mind. His lips were bright red, the thin coat of saliva on them intensifying the impression and between them the banker could make out the pink of his tongue.

“Kiss me,” George said hoarsely and let his hand stroke down the side of Ross’ face, his thumb tracing his bottom lip.

A smile played around Ross’ sinful mouth as he all but crawled upwards. Their bodies still didn’t touch – Ross remained on his hands and knees, hovering over George for a second before leaning down and kissing him. George’s mouth opened almost immediately and a rush of greed made him crane his neck to reach Ross. His hands ran along the strong sides and his tongue darted out to lick over Ross’ lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. His own taste hit him and gave way to the heady scent so inherent to the brunet. For a moment Ross let him indulge before he pushed his shoulder back down with his right, pressing George onto the mattress and taking over the heated kiss. George moaned at the sudden restriction and when Ross pushed his tongue into his mouth he tightened his grip on his sides and tried to pull him closer. Ross lightly bit his lower lip and broke the kiss with a disapproving _tsk_.

“You know the rules. Say it,” he whispered in anticipation, only his right still holding on to George’s shoulder.

He could almost feel the heat radiating off the brunet’s body so close did he hover over him. George groaned in frustration and tried to pull him closer again but he didn’t relent – despite his obvious arousal Ross kept George at bay, waiting for him to speak.

“I…” George said and stared up into the dark eyes, swallowing heavily, “I want to feel you rubbing against me.”

He didn’t break eye contact as he spoke and even though he had avoided the obvious terms his heart sped up. This time, Ross didn’t ask further and George let out the breath he had held unknowingly. Maybe he was off the hook. Or Ross was simply too aroused to care about linguistic intricacies. In any case, a dark grin flashed over his features as he let himself sink down on George’s spread-out body and their erections finally, _finally_ met.

“Ross,” George gasped and pressed his hands harder into the other man’s back, hoping to close any distance between them. Ross’ cock slid against his own slick erection in tantalising slowness and _christ_ , just Ross pressing against him all hot and hard made George’s legs spread further as the brunet began to rut against him quickly. George’s breath caught in his throat and his hips moved to meet his movements; his arse rubbing along the sheet reminded him of the missing pressure between his cheeks but his cock felt amazing, the sudden friction so needed and intense. His own moans were a constant now as well as Ross’ quiet grunts; the brunet buried his face in the crook of George’s neck, breathing hotly against his skin. His right still had George’s shoulder pinned down while his left grabbed his hair – a sharp tingle ran down the banker’s scalp and neck, adding to the heat Ross’ thrusts built up but still he felt so empty, fingered open only to be teased instead of properly fucked.

“Is that all you want, George?” Ross asked, out of breath and as if he had read his mind. “Is that all you can bring yourself to say?”

In response George only moaned, an unintended response to the brunet’s question. He wanted _more_ , he wanted Ross’ cock inside him, slamming into him, taking what he needed… and damn, Ross was certainly aware.

“You know what I want,” George groaned out.

“Of course I do,” Ross answered, equally husky and continuing to grind against him, “I know you like it when I take you hard, carry out one of your thousand kinky ideas, make you scream...” George’s eyes fluttered shut, his mind reeling as Ross’ dark voice fed those stirring images to him. “But I want to hear you say it.”

The right words were in his mind, every pore of his body screamed the details that Ross was so keen on hearing – and still he insisted on a vocal version, his words in his voice.

“Ross… I want you behind me… kneeling… taking me…” George murmured, shyness mixing into his arousal. He couldn’t bring himself to say more than this vague description of what he wanted just now for reasons he himself was puzzled by. What did it matter if he said it? In light of what they were doing, this kinky, secretive affair of theirs, a few words hardly made a significant difference. And he had said it earlier, had adhered to Ross’ wish and asked him to suck his cock… But before George could summon up the courage for a second attempt Ross’ weight disappeared from his body as he sat up.

“Ross,” George gasped. His cock was leaking pre-cum and his hole twitched in need, the sudden loss almost driving him insane. If Ross decided to stop now, leave him here – George’s hands jumped to his cock, eager to finish himself. Yet just before he could touch himself, Ross’ fingers closed around his wrists and pulled him into a sitting position. George huffed in surprise when Ross grabbed him and turned him around in the same instant he made him move up the bed. The banker barely recognised the process; Ross effectively took over control of his body, positioning him upright and on his knees. George grabbed the headboard for balance and in this moment Ross took a hold of his hips and pulled him back. His legs rested on the outside of Ross’ thighs, spread wide so that he was half sitting on him. His cock pressed against his back but was still nowhere near the spot where George wanted it. Instead, Ross’ right ran up his stomach to rub over his nipple. He leaned back onto Ross’ muscular chest as his sensitive nipple reacted to the touch, hardening, and moaned when Ross twisted his fingers around it. A flash of painful pleasure shot through his torso and on instinct George’s hips moved back, feeling Ross’ left cupping his arse and slipping a finger inside him.

“Ross,” he groaned and rocked back on his hand, hoping for more pressure, for his cock or even only more fingers – but nothing, simply Ross’ index finger moving in a slow circle too far away from his sweet spot.

“And what should I do now, hm?” Ross asked. His voice had a husky sound to it that betrayed how turned on he was but still his question sounded maddeningly casual in George’s ears. His chest heaved in heavy breaths, thankful for the support the brunet’s broad frame provided him with as Ross continued to play idly with his nipple. George’s cock was begging to be touched but his whole body was shaking with need, every touch by Ross at the right and wrong spot simultaneously.

“Ross… I want…”

 _Just say it_ , George implored himself, his initial shyness turning over to irritation at his own shortcoming. Every fibre of his body was buzzing, his muscles tense and under such suspense that he felt like falling apart every second now. _He’ll just keep me on edge_. The realisation only made his need greater but George began to understand how serious Ross was about not granting him release unless he talked. Sweat ran down the side of his face as Ross consciously moved his finger just out of tune with George’s unconsciously moving hips.

Ross pressed his lips on the spot where George’s neck met his shoulder and sucked. “What is it, George?” he asked close to the banker’s ear, nipping at the shell, “Does your proper education stand in the way of you saying it?”

Something in George’s lower stomach twisted at those words and his moan lost itself in his throat.

Proper education.

With one simple sentence Ross had uncovered what seemed like a puzzle to George – but now it was out in the open his thoughts raced through his head in a multitude of images. Banker, affluent, polite, neatly dressed, respected… none of those labels held in this very moment, on his knees and about to be fucked by Ross, not only taken like a whore but offering himself up like one.

“Fuck me,” George gasped out as all these implications rushed through him, the contrasting images that all applied to him without exception, making him _so damn aroused_. “Fuck me, Ross, I want your cock inside me, deep, and your hand on my prick… I want to come over your fingers, lick them clean, feel you spill into me...”

The words formerly so heavy on his tongue now gushed over George’s dry lips without hesitation. Behind him he heard Ross’ heavy breathing at the avalanche of words, his cock rubbing between his cheeks.

“Good…” Ross growled into his ear and began to withdraw his finger.

“No!” George gasped out and his left darted out, grabbing Ross’ wrist, “No, leave that finger.”

His voice was firm enough but still his tone didn’t cross over into being assertive – after all Ross was still in charge and it was not the least bit in George’s interest to challenge that circumstance. But having both Ross’ finger and his cock buried inside him…

“George…” Half a moan of pleasure, half a surprised gasp.

“I want more… god, I need more, Ross,” George pressed himself to say through gritted teeth.

But the anticipated feeling didn’t come when Ross hesitated, his breath hot against the banker’s neck.

“Do it,” George groaned, rocking back onto Ross’ lap with insistence.

A grunt sounded in his back when his almost-command convinced Ross and his cock nudged against George’s stretched entrance; that sensation alone was enough to send his pulse reeling. George moaned like a cheap whore and Ross ran his right along his nipples again, tracing his slim stomach and pulling him close. His finger inside him moved and the next moment, George felt him push into him slowly.

“God, Ross…” he groaned and adjusted his position a little to give him a better angle. George grabbed the headboard harder and dug his fingers into the wood – the sensation of Ross’ cock sliding along his finger and filling him up was so _intense_ that George couldn’t be sure it was even pleasure that he felt. All he knew was that this was what he wanted, that this was exactly what he needed.

“George,” Ross growled into his neck, pressing his sweaty chest against the banker’s back as his cock pushed further into him, “you needy little bastard…”

The words ran hotly through him and George only moaned because _yes, god,_ he was needy, entirely dependent on Ross to tend to him, to release him. George gave a whimper as his thighs quivered and he leaned stronger against him, almost sprawled out. His hole was stretched incredibly wide and he just felt so… so full as Ross’ hips stopped moving, cock and finger entirely buried in him. George’s heart was beating heavily, every little move and twitch of Ross inside him bringing a bout of pleasure. Then, the brunet began to thrust in a slow rhythm. A strained “Ross…” stumbled over George’s lips as the friction intensified and he threw back his head, eyes closed.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demanded roughly and licked along George’s presented neck.

“So good…” George gasped out, adhering to the command without thought, entirely focussed on the feeling of Ross’ cock sliding in and out of him, “god, you’re so deep… so thick inside me.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, Christ…” George moaned and rocked back in tune with Ross’ thrusts, his hands holding on to the headboard for balance, “your hand… stroke me…”

Ross’ right wandered from his stomach to his cock and the coarse fingers wrapped tightly around it. The banker thrust involuntarily into his hand and Ross took over the rhythm, stroking him in quick and hard moves. George’s eyes shut at the pressure, moaning and leaning forward again and resting his forearms on the headboard. He was too far gone to trust himself to carry his own weight and as he stretched his back forward he felt Ross sucking and biting at his skin.

“Ross…” George slurred as all those different sensations joined forces, spreading through him uncontrollably, “How I need this… thought about it so often…”

“When?” Ross asked roughly, licking and nipping at his neck and working George’s body in such intensity that the banker felt like losing all what was left of his little control. He had imagined Ross so often, since…

“Since your return,” he gasped, “teased my hole thinking of you, here, on this bed… god, I wanted it to be you so bad. I knew you were there, talking to my uncle… I left the door unlocked.”

The words came easy all of the sudden as they left George’s dry throat, presenting a truth as well as a memory – a memory that came alive again in his mind’s eye the second he spoke. In his back, Ross groaned deeply at his description and his thrusts became faster. No shred of shyness was left in George now that he talked, arousing himself and Ross with his words, answering him free from reluctance and inhibition.

“You were in the study, so close to me…” George went on, short of breath and almost unable to stop the words, a sudden rush, “God, I could hear you talk, Ross, in the next room, your voice muffled through the walls… wanted you to come in and watch me, catch me fingering myself…”

George cried out when Ross’ next thrust went deeper and hit his sweet spot.

“And what do I do with you when I catch you?” he asked and pushed harder into him, his hand on George’s cock working relentlessly, “Tell me, do I make you come?”

“No…” George’s body felt on fire from the strong thrusts and the way Ross flicked his finger against the tip of his cock with every other stroke, “You… you don’t want me to come yet, you draw it out...”

At that moment, Ross closed his grip around the base of his cock, making George moan out. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on his hands grabbing the headboard. “Like that,” he gasped at the implied cock ring, Ross hitting his prostate with every thrust now.

“You little minx…” Ross growled, the tone vibrating in George’s ears. “Just imagine how hard you’d be until I allow you to come…”

“Yes… oh god yes,” George babbled, his own descriptions adding to the building orgasm as well as Ross’ way of implementing them, “you’d watch my every move… making me fuck myself on my fingers, putting on a show for you… and then you fuck me, whispering filthy things in my ear, making me scream, taking me hard…”

Ross took the cue and thrust into him rougher, leaning forward and gasping into George’s neck. Looking down between his arms George watched the brunet’s hand continued to move along his hard cock, slick with pre-cum, “Fingered myself every night pretending it’s you, your hands, Ross... your cock, your mouth…”

The banker felt hardly like himself anymore. The words flowing from his lips, his every muscle tense and his ragged breaths were all part of him but George barely recognised any of it as Ross took him apart, fucking him so roughly, stretching him so wide he could do nothing but give himself over to sensation. His body consisted of pure need, growing with every touch by Ross, touches he could neither name nor distinguish anymore, pushing him closer and closer to the edge and still he didn’t fall, not yet, and then he heard Ross panting his name, all but slamming into him, his finger inside him mirroring the movements of his cock and George’s orgasm hit with blinding force.

His entire body cramped and shook, no part of him unaffected by the tidal wave of sensation that rushed through him, making him gasp like a drowning man. His hips lost all rhythm as he came over Ross’ hand, holding on to the headboard while his orgasm surged through him in fiery intensity, one wave after another, shaking him to the core. Ross’ cock and finger inside him continued to move and he felt himself clench around them, giving him another spark of sensation his muscles could barely process. George felt like losing himself – whether he felt pain or pleasure he couldn’t say, none of these descriptions came even close to what surged through him. His mind was entirely blank, no words left to say and when he pressed his head into the crook of his arms he saw Ross’ hand still dancing over his cock in rough strokes, spreading his cum and soiling his fingers. George’s eyes fell shut as the intensity he felt died down enough for pleasure to set in. His thighs quivered and strained to carry his weight but it didn’t matter anymore for George was too far gone, nothing real to him anymore. Ross let go of his cock, placed his hand next to the banker’s on the headboard for more leverage and George felt him push deep inside him. The brunet’s chest hit his back and grunting into his neck Ross climaxed, coming into him hard as his hand clawed at the headboard. George didn’t know whether his raw throat could still produce sounds or if it were Ross’ groans he heard; the brunet had truly taken him apart and only Ross’ hips bucking in release, riding out his orgasm, were a constant in his debauched state. His muscles felt heavy and tired and he was kept up solely by Ross’ broad frame, fearing he would lose all balance when the thrusts slowed down. Holding on to the headboard George tried to catch his breath as Ross’ finger left his body and he grabbed his hip, his right still placed next to George’s. A few stuttering moves, Ross panting against his skin for what felt like ages and when he let go, slipping out of him, George could only muster a huff before collapsing on the mattress.

 

* * * * * *

 

George looked over to Ross across the bed as he buttoned up his shirt. “There is a party next week at Sir Hugh Bodrugan’s. I trust you are invited?”

Ross nodded and busied himself with his waistcoat. “Indeed.”

“I might have other company,” George said casually.

“Other company?” Ross drew his eyes together. George had anticipated that he wouldn’t be too pleased about that in case he had already made plans for them. But the sudden sharp tone startled George.

Ross cleared his throat and added, trying for a more measured tone, “Surely you mean in public?”

 _So he had plans. Good_. Despite the relaxation his pulse quickened lightly at the thought of disappearing with Ross for a while, having a quick fuck, and returning to the other guests as if nothing had happened. It really did well to maintain this affair – whatever boredom George had suffered from was definitely a thing of the past.

“As public as possible,” George said calmly in answer to Ross’ question, “My father made it abundantly clear to me that I am to pay civil attention to a certain young lady.”

Ross laughed shortly as he put his kerchief around his neck and began to tie it. “Your father intends to marry you off?”

George’s face fell a little as he recalled this conversation. Of course his father wasn’t suspecting anything as to his involvement with Ross; his son’s private life was of little interest to him, luckily, and as far as he was concerned George proceeded elegantly enough when it came to his bed companions. Neither his preferences nor the company George kept had ever been a point of discussion between them for there hadn’t been scandals of any sort. Yet now his father had pointed out that Ms Porter was the daughter of an influential entrepreneur – and unattached.

“No, it’s nothing of the sort. Just a fancy he has which will pass soon enough,” George hastened to say but the steep crease in his forehead betrayed him.

His father was definitely hoping for a suitable match to combine the Warleggan’s money with a well-known name. George had not fought on the subject but made clear that he would tend to her in order to secure a business connection – anything beyond that was nothing he could agree or reject without having met the lady. Not that he had any intention of getting married before thirty-five to begin with but that was a circumstance his old man did not need to be aware of.

George put on his waistcoat. “I am merely stating that I do not want her to feel unheeded or overlooked.”

“How gallant of you.” Ross’ voice dripped with sarcasm and George couldn’t help but feel irritated.

 _Why do you insist on mocking social norms?_ The tragedy in Ross’ character, he mused, was the fact that he could not abide playing according to rules, even if they were to favour him. If he had an eye for such advantages he wouldn’t have resisted George’s friendship for so long. Maybe the very fact that their arrangement manoeuvred entirely outside of society was alluring to Ross – along, of course, with his initial anger about Elizabeth. Though George felt positive that there was a shift: Ross seemed more at ease recently, more playful in his behaviour. As far as George was concerned this was an indicator that it was more about him rather than about her by now. He wasn’t prone to any sentimental claims; far be it from him to suppose any kind of emotional attachment between them. But still, his status in Ross’ eyes and in relation to Elizabeth seemed to have changed. Otherwise Ross would probably just have continued to slam him into a wall without the refinement George was so keen (and successful) in introducing to their affair.

“Gallantry is nothing to disapprove of,” George said firmly, “And may I suggest that, should she feel unattended for a considerable amount of time, it is not only my reputation that might suffer. You know the gentry’s aggravating habit of discussing other people’s private lives in public.”

Ross looked at him sternly for a moment, grasping George’s meaning. Then, he nodded. “Understood.”

 


	10. Ross' Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In front of him lay three sheets of paper – one blank, one Sir Hugh Bodrugan’s invitation, and one featuring a positive reply missing only his signature."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, lovelies, I'm afraid you'll have to be very strong now: there's no porn in this chapter *gasp* and it's on the short side. It didn't really fit to the last one and neither to the next... Hope you still enjoy the quick introspection intermezzo, though, and I'll be back with smut soon :D

Ross sat down at his desk in his study. In front of him lay three sheets of paper – one blank, one Sir Hugh Bodrugan’s invitation, and one featuring a positive reply missing only his signature.

With a sigh he leaned back in his chair, trying to assess the scale of the party. It’ll be one of the biggest social get-togethers of the season and, from what he had heard, almost every nobleman and –woman in the county would attend. Ross didn’t exactly look forward to the prospect but since his late father had always insisted on decent public representation he couldn’t shake a feeling of responsibility. Besides, if he kept to himself and the handful people he liked he might even spend a nice evening. And knowing Sir Hugh there would be no shortage of liquor.

Though of course George would be there, his comment and both implications not forgotten. Yes, they would have to be careful and yes, Ross had been playing with the idea of demanding George’s attention at the party. George’s statement had given his notion a definite push to a positive decision since their last meeting a few hours ago. Ross’ body still felt comfortably relaxed. It had been intense to say the least; getting George to talk, making the oh-so-respectable banker gasp out obscenities gave him such a rush. His kinky wish caught Ross off-guard at first but hell, it had been a memorable experience if there ever was one. Somehow, George managed to continue to surprise him and with every new notion Ross wondered what else was stored away in the banker’s mind, only waiting to be released.

So now there’d be another social occasion at which they would meet. Ross studied the invitation again. During earlier balls he had simply kept away from George as was possible but since that had raised a few eyebrows, the gentry all too keen on observing one another, Ross would have to at least play a round of cards with George to keep up appearances. And wasn’t that just difficult with the image of him wantonly gasping out his name and rocking back on his cock in Ross’ mind.

Ross looked up at the sound of the creaking floorboards and saw Dwight enter the study, two glasses of brandy in his hands.

“There you go,” the doctor said with a smile and set one glass next to the letters, sitting down on a chair across Ross the table, “How was your day?”

“Good…” Ross said, studying the paper in front of him, pretending to read. Last thing he needed was Dwight picking up on the small but smug grin playing around his lips. “And yours?”

Dwight took a sip from his drink and stretched out his long legs. “Not too bad. I tended to your tenants this afternoon and was paid in groceries. I think we could make a stew out of it that’ll last us at least a few days. Is that the invitation to the ball over at Sir Hugh’s?” He nodded to the letter in Ross’ hand.

“Indeed. Are you invited, too?”

“Yes, I received a letter but I haven’t answered yet. Simply forgot, to be honest.”

“Will you attend?”

Strangely enough Ross found himself hoping for a negative answer. It had been nice to attend social gatherings with Dwight, that was not the point – the doctor was well-liked and more polite and charming than Ross could ever attempt to be, giving the brunet a break if he needed one. But with George’s offer so openly pending it could be difficult to coordinate.

Dwight shook his head and Ross relaxed; one less factor that he had to consider, making his decision concerning George one of his own rather than to be dictated by circumstance.

“I don’t think so. Jenny’s baby is due any day now and the location is too far away from their home. I’d hate for her to wait for me too long. She’s scared enough as it is.”

Ross drew his eyebrows together in honest concern. “Is there any reason?”

“No, the pregnancy is perfectly normal. But she’s a young girl, it’s her first, and Jim is even more jittery than her.”

“Well, who’s to blame them,” Ross said with a rueful smile, the ghost of a sentiment flickering through his mind. Not long ago and he had thought to be father himself by now, with Elizabeth by his side. But there was no use in entertaining that thought; even in its watered down state it was still enough to dampen his mood.

Dwight shuffled in his chair and asked, “Are you attending the ball?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Will… will Elizabeth be there?”

“Almost certainly. Francis and she are very friendly with Sir Hugh and it seems he has invited the entirety of Cornwall to the event.”

For a moment, Dwight hesitated and looked at Ross in honest worry. “Will you be alright?”

Ross gave a small smile, the young doctor’s genuine care for him sending a wave of affection through him. Ross himself was strong in his likes and dislikes. But having a friend such as Dwight reminded him that not all the world was his enemy, and decent men existed.

“Yes. Thank you, Dwight. For your concern. But there’s no need. I know my place and it’s fine,” Ross said amiably, “It doesn’t do well to live in the past.”

“Very well said. I’m glad you see it that way.”

“Besides, there’ll be diversion aplenty,” Ross added lightly, trying to keep his mind off the idea of having George in a private room somewhere, like in the beginning of their arrangement, “I heard that Ms Porter will attend as well. You know, the daughter of the entrepreneur who owns half of Truro.”

Dwight nodded. “I have heard of him. And her.”

“Rumour has it she’ll attend with George.” Though he hadn’t mentioned the name it hadn’t been difficult to find out who this ominous ‘company’ of George’s was.

“Oh? Well, I suppose he’s the right age and a fitting suitor.” Dwight shrugged.

“Probably,” a hint of irritation snuck into Ross’ voice before he added with a cheeky smile, “Shame you won’t be there to convince her of your qualities.”

“Ross!” Dwight exclaimed in surprise that ended in a chuckle, “I’m not looking for an attachment.”

“Well, I’m just saying she’ll be wasted on George.” Ross took a sip of his drink. She was especially wasted on George now that Ross would have free rein, attending alone.

“Who knows,” Dwight said, “Maybe they are a perfect match.”

“Maybe.” Ross highly doubted than anyone would be a perfect match for a man like George. But then again, who was to say which standing he had among the unattached gentlewomen of the county.

Dwight finished his drink and got up. “Well, I’ll leave you to write your reply. I need to get some sleep.”

“Good night, Dwight.”

The little exchange with Dwight had touched upon the crux of the matter. Ross was bothered by the fact that George would have company. And such distinguished company at that. George’s hint that he was available to him stood in stark contrast with his duties as her escort and Ross could only speculate about his reasons. Maybe he was actually bored at the prospect or he (like Ross himself) couldn’t shake the idea of doing it in such proximity to Cornwall’s elite – this time not in an ad hoc manner but planned beforehand.

If it weren’t for Ms Porter. In a way Ross had to compete with her and the thought alone annoyed him. To say that he was jealous would have been a blatant lie: what George did in his own time was of little interest to Ross provided that he left his mine and finances in peace. He cared neither for George’s business nor past times or bed companions; as far as he was concerned George could offer himself to half the country if he felt the need to. The important part of their affair was a matter of concentration: when they met Ross expected to have George’s full attention.

Ross poured himself another brandy. In a way it was strange how George was a fixed constant in his life by now; a fact he had never thought would come into existence given their history. But many things hadn’t unfolded like Ross had anticipated. For instance, his anger and irritation towards Elizabeth had subsided considerably. This was of course a wound that would take a lot longer to heal still, but he was on a good way. It was too early to accept her offer of friendship but what Ross had thought unfeasible a few months ago came into view now, a possibility that would be worth thinking about in due time.

Which begged the question why he still entertained his relation to George.

What had started as a means to an end, to letting out his anger more specifically, had long since moved on to something different. No convenient fucks any longer but something akin to an affair. Emotionally neither he nor George were involved – though there was some kind of trust between them, on a physical level. He doubted that George would let himself be tied up if he had reservations about the scope of Ross’ character. But then again, maybe he got off on uncertainty. George was surprisingly difficult for Ross to grasp in some respects.

In any case, to say that George was but a distraction wouldn’t do justice to the frankly exhilarating sex they were having. By now the banker’s visits were entirely independent from Ross’ emotions towards Elizabeth; another topic altogether with its own set of advantages and complications. Whether this was better or worse than the initial situation Ross didn’t know. But what did it matter? The main thing was that he _felt_ better and it worked for both of them. Attention, that was what it came down to. And sex.

Ross stroked through his hair as he stared at the glass deep in thought, the alcohol warming him up. As long as they made sure that no one caught up on it there was hardly a reason to stop. He didn’t know what George told Elizabeth and Francis about him – from what he heard they were still friends – but he’d be stupid to let anything slip in the first place. Ross felt fairly safe in that respect. The slightly tense meeting of George and Dwight at the doorstep of Nampara a week ago seemed also forgotten since Dwight hadn’t mentioned it to him again. In fact, Dwight behaved perfectly normal and just now he had joined in with the joke about George and Ms Porter. No, the young doctor surely didn’t suspect anything. And if he did Ross was certain that he showed him the courtesy of keeping quiet about it and not mentioning it to him.

Though Dwight surely knew an addiction when he saw one. Ross faltered for a second – the notion appeared in his mind without preamble, sneaking through his defences lowered by relaxation and alcohol. He snorted and shook his head inadvertently. What a strange thought. However, truth be told, Ross wasn’t sure if he could stop right now, either. The relative balance his life had gained again was partly due to George and besides, the intensity their sex had taken on would be difficult to find somewhere else. George was surely of the same opinion.

Ross emptied his glass and picked up his pen, putting his signature on the reply to Sir Hugh. He would attend alright – and George would grant him the attention he was due. As if the banker could resist in the first place. In a determined motion Ross pulled the empty sheet of paper in place and began to formulate a letter to George.

“Dear Mr Warleggan

I shall be delighted to meet with you at the ball next week-end. I sincerely hope that you will make time for me and prepare all necessities for a private conversation.

Yours etc

Ross Poldark”

 


	11. Sir Hugh Bodrugan's Mansion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've heard about Miss Porter and Ross' peculiar behaviour when it comes to her. Let's head over to Sir Hugh's and meet her, shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, it's been so long...! Sorry for my absence, life has been a bit chaotic lately. Still is but I finally had some time to write and needed a bit to get back in the flow so hopefully this turned out okay. Are you all well?  
> Here you go, I hope you enjoy the party, meeting Miss Porter, and observing an absolutely not jealousy-stricken Ross.

The music ended and George bowed in front of Miss Porter, offering his arm and leading her off the dance floor. She gave him a smile and followed his lead.

“Some refreshment,” George said and took two glasses of champagne off the tablet of a passing waiter. Just before he passed one glass on to Miss Porter he caught Ross’ eye. His gaze bore into him, one eyebrow raised halfway in annoyed question.

“Thank you very much,” Miss Porter said politely and George focussed back on her.

Miss Porter and he clinked their glasses together, watching the remaining couples start the next dance. The evening was progressing quite pleasantly so far. Sir Hugh Bodrugan had indeed spared neither trouble nor expense in his hosting of the ball; food as well as drink were of supreme quality, the music was well-performed and all attendees appeared to be in a jovial mood.

George listened to Miss Porter attentively – even if her scope of conversation hadn’t exceeded the weather and other women’s dresses he would have paid special attention as not to agitate his father. But Miss Porter turned out be an intelligent woman and George found himself decently entertained in conversing with her. Not that he would especially seek her company if he wasn’t her escort but she was definitely not the spoilt rich girl George had feared her to be.

Yet for all his attention on her he couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering over to Ross ever so often. The entire evening he had hovered in George’s proximity. He looked striking in his royal blue ensemble, accentuating his rugged handsomeness and at the same time giving him an elegant twist. But over the course of the last hour Ross’ expression had darkened considerably and every time George dared to cast him a look a new glass of brandy adorned his hand. Tension was plainly visible in his rigid posture, his driven gestures and the way his eyes followed George’s movements a little too closely for the banker to feel comfortable.

Partly George knew what this was about; he had received the letter and its clear instructions. Truth be told, he was almost as keen on finding an empty room somewhere as Ross. The guest bedrooms upstairs might be a possibility or maybe a study somewhere down the corridor, past the card room… close enough for the thrill but unlikely to be disturbed there.

But at the same time Ross’ extreme agitation seemed to be unfitting to be bred purely out of impatience. Maybe Elizabeth was the reason for his mood again, or maybe he had had a row with someone at the card table; perhaps he had lost more money than anticipated and was now looking to be repaid in another fashion. From the distance it was difficult to assess exactly what was amiss – and of course, George could not neglect his obligations towards Miss Porter.

As of yet he hadn’t found a suitable possibility to leave her for a while. The dancing had started quite early and most of the female guests George felt were suitable company for her were engaged in a dance. And leaving Miss Porter at the mercy of Ruth Teague and probably even Elizabeth’s mother was no option for him – however much he desired Ross’ hands on him his responsibilities as a gentlemen were of greater importance in this situation. If only Dwight Enys were here or a gentleman of a similar standing, noble enough to trust Miss Porter with while he and Ross…

“Are you interested in art, Mr Warleggan?” Miss Porter asked him, striking up the conversation anew.

George smiled at her amiably, pushing all thoughts of Ross and the letter to the back of his mind. “Unfortunately my schedule is quite full and I don’t have nearly as much time to engage with the fine arts as I would like. Though I do appreciate them.”

“Of course. I recently attended an exhibition which displayed Charles Brooking’s work. Truly magnificent. If you are ever in London and find yourself with a bit of time on your hands I can only recommend a visit.”

“I hope I will have the chance,” George said with a smile when from his left a well-known voice called out his name.

“George!” The banker turned to the side and saw Ross walking over to him in long strides that mirrored the forcefulness of his voice. His demeanour was not directly threatening but it held an assertive quality that made George wrinkle his brow for a moment. He likely wouldn’t just come over to be introduced to Ms Porter… though that was the favourable version over him making a scene of some sort. Judging by his appearance Ross wasn’t exactly sober anymore and in the back of his mind George feared that he would lose his composure and give rise to rumours. Yet nothing of this inner turmoil showed on his face when George nodded at Ross and turned to Ms Porter.

“Ah,” George said, indicating the man in question, “may I present Mr Ross Poldark.”

Ross stopped in front of them, his eyes lingering shortly on Miss Porter’s hand resting on George’s arm. Before the banker could place that look, however, Ross smiled, bowed his head and said politely, “Your servant, Ma’am.”

George relaxed a little. The difficulties in their arrangement for tonight had evidently not destroyed his social skills and with a bit of luck this conversation would flow smoothly.

“I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” Miss Porter replied, “I have heard a great deal of good things about you, Mr Poldark.”

“From whom?” Ross asked, interested, looking over to George for a second.

Despite Ross’ polite behaviour he could feel the tension radiating off him. Miss Porter would likely take no notice of it – since they had not been introduced before she had no point of reference. George, on the other hand, was aware that something was eating away at Ross as he took in the sight of the two in front of him. The letter had been clear and Ross surely knew all too well that George did not attempt to challenge him. So why the mood?

Miss Porter tilted her head so that a strand of her brown hair fell into her face. “Devout friends and workers of yours who are too happy to talk about your generosity.”

“Well, one should always consider the source of such information,” Ross replied with a charming smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “I am glad you did not consult my rivals.”

“Of which you have many?” Miss Porter asked.

Ross gestured vaguely. “More than some, less than others.”

George curled his lips into a smile and added, “Mr Poldark is an interesting man, attracting friend and foe alike.”

Ross played with the glass in his hands. “A curse and a blessing. A gentleman as respectable as Mr Warleggan here,” a curious gleam crept into his eyes as he looked over to George, “is certainly more dependable and gives everyone his due.”

George pressed his lips together. What hopefully looked like casual flattery to Miss Porter was a hidden jab he himself couldn’t have delivered better. The remains of Ross’ smile covered his displeasure for the unsuspecting eye but George was acutely aware. The full lips were pressed together with more force than necessary, the hand grabbing the glass in kind.

Miss Porter smiled, unaware of the tension between the two men. She softly squeezed George’s arm and answered, “Indeed, I have yet to find a fault in his character.”

At this statement, she leaned lightly into George; a flicker of anger clouded Ross’ eyes for a split second and suddenly, George knew.

 _He’s jealous_.

If the situation were a different one George would have laughed at the insinuation. But Ross’ clenched jaw and the keen eye had on any form of physical contact between him and Miss Porter settled the thought in reality. His erratic behaviour made sense now, as did the sharp answer he had given George when he had broached the subject of his companion for the ball. And involuntarily, George had fed Ross’ jealousy. He quickly replayed the last hour, estimating his own as well as Miss Porter’s behaviour. Nothing more than a dance but if seen through the lens of resentment… no wonder Ross was fuming inwardly.

George gave a modest chuckle, adhering to his role as a gentleman perfectly. Not even Ross would know how much his mind was in uproar. “I certainly shouldn’t be the object of flattery in a room full of such estimable company.”

Even though George had not intended to agitate Ross his demeanour only confirmed what the banker had assumed, even hoped. Whatever resentment Ross held against him, if that was still the case, he couldn’t help but dance to George’s tunes. _Whether you like it or not, you’re hooked_. The thought made George suppress a smile – all his schemes had played out perfectly.

Miss Porter gave Ross a warm smile. “I am enchanted to see the vigour with which the gentry behaves hereabouts.”

On cue, Ross returned the gesture and asked, “Then I do not have to feel regret in taking Mr Warleggan from you for a moment? There are urgent matters to discuss.”

The sheer audacity with which Ross demanded his presence told George he was in for a rough encounter. His pulse quickened at the notion; being thoroughly taken in the secrecy of a back room while the party continued, Ross grunting obscenities in his ear while George spread his legs for him…

With effort George tore his attention away from the images appearing in his mind. How he wanted to follow Ross, immediately, but his feeling of responsibility made him say, “Ross, I’m sure Miss Porter does not feel sufficiently comfortable to…”

Yet Miss Porter interrupted him. “Of course. I shall not stand in the way of your business and I’m in no doubt we will have a chance to speak again later.”

Ross smiled at her with a small nod of his head before he put his hand on George’s shoulder. “I shall return your companion as soon as everything has been settled to our mutual satisfaction.”

 

* * * * * * * *

Ross opened the door to the study in a brisk move. Behind him George all but sauntered down the corridor and Ross clenched his jaw: the banker seemed as nonchalant as Ross was irritated. The copious amount of brandy he had ingested had warmed him up considerately but now his barely concealed anger made his cheeks glow. First he had to pry George away from that girl clinging to him like a goddamn leech and now he acted as if he had all the time in the world. Without making eye contact George walked past him into the room while Ross checked either side of the corridor. _No one there._ _Good_.

He crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him carefully, the turning of the key giving a deep and somewhat final sound; then, he turned to George. Behind him a large and empty table was positioned close to the wall while the rest of the room was furnished with comfortable looking armchairs and a few bookshelves. Large windows divided the long wall and heavy curtains were drawn; only a hint of the late evening light poured in through the gap where the drapes did not align.

Standing in the middle of the room George looked like he belonged there, the very image of tranquillity. His dark brown coat and the silvery waistcoat blended perfectly into the dim surroundings, the champagne flute in his right the only shiny accessory. George looked at him calmly, almost questioningly, while his mouth was twisted in the tiniest of smiles. Or maybe Ross imagined it – either way, the relaxation George portrayed so casually only made him madder.

With half a turn George put the glass on the table but their eyes remained locked. The dull thump was almost swallowed by the thick carpet and the solid walls but the sound of glass grating over wood reached Ross’ ear when George pushed the flute further up the table.

Ross narrowed his eyes, half a mind to turn around and ignore the provocation – no, provocations, actually, for there had been numerous throughout the evening – George offered him. But George would also offer him something else and he’d be damned if he didn’t take what they were here for.

“How dare you?” Ross hissed. The act of breaking this silence was taken up by his body immediately and with two large steps Ross closed the distance between them. His left hand reached out and grabbed George’s lapel; the expensive fabric felt smooth under his fingers and for a second Ross didn’t know whether he wanted to hit or kiss him. His mind was reeling with anger, need and jealousy but now that he was alone with George he had no one to contest with. Yet out _there_ … Ross grabbed George’s neck with his right, his left still firmly clasping his coat, and pulled him close, pressing his lips on the other man’s mouth in a hard kiss.

This decision was definitely the right one: the pressure of George’s mouth on his reassured Ross of it and he intensified the kiss as he kept the other man’s neck in a firm grip. He licked along the seam of George’s lips and all sense of resistance seemed to leave the banker: he opened his mouth immediately and Ross pushed his tongue past his lips, greedily soaking up what he had been refused the entire night. Ross kissed deeper as anger and lust became entwined and the intensity remained; he wanted George on his back, panting and begging for him, making him pay. And George would probably like it, little insatiable whore that he was. Ross groaned into his mouth at the thought and felt George’s hands resting lightly on his shoulders while his warm mouth adhered to every impulse Ross gave.

But something was off. It wasn’t only the flowery cologne George wore to such social events; smelling it was a sure way to remind Ross of the beginnings of their affair, in a room similar to this one. No, mixing into it was a second smell, leaving almost a taste on Ross’ tongue. What he felt and tasted under his lips wasn’t entirely George. Too infused with perfume, the faint smell of _her_ lingered all over George’s coat, mocking Ross. He was getting what he wanted but the smell deterred him – it seemed wrong, Miss Porter intruding like that, and Ross’ anger sparked anew. It was all fake, the whole damn ball and its attendants, and with them also George. Ross growled and deepened the kiss, absurdly hoping he could rid George of the scent that way. The slick tongue against his and the texture of his lips were familiar as was the tilt of the head and the little gasp when he pulled back. Yet still, in Ross’ intoxicated mind the presence of one Miss Porter was far too dominant.

He grabbed the collar of George’s jacket and roughly pulled it from his shoulders, sliding it down his arms. George’s head darted forward to kiss his jaw but before the banker could reach his skin Ross tightened the grip on his arms, trapping George in his coat and keeping him centimetres away. _You have had your say tonight_. He fixed his eyes on George’s parted lips that were desperate for a kiss. Teasingly, Ross brought his face closer to George’s and tightened the grip around his wrists, making sure he wouldn’t reach his mouth.

“You made me wait like a fucking servant.”

Ross’ voice sounded rough despite the murmur and he could feel his anger rise again at his own words. Not only Miss Porter annoyed him, no – the sheer ignorance George had treated him with throughout the entire evening was outrageous. Their roles were clearly distributed and as far as Ross was concerned it should bloody well stay that way. In the back of his mind he considered that George only tried to set him off to fabricate exactly this situation; he was cunning enough. But even this circumstance wouldn’t change the arousal that Ross felt, his breath coming shorter. Never mind the reason for their dynamic – now _he_ was in charge. Ross moved his head back a little to look George in the eyes, to see the deliciously devout flicker that followed such words. George would coyly submit and offer reparations for the inconvenience he had caused and Ross would fuck him to his liking, getting off only metres away from the celebrating crowd. His cock was hardening at the thought. _I have waited long enough_. But when he caught George’s eyes he met a steady gaze. His pupils were undeniably dilated, the blue well on its way of being swallowed by the black but George did not look away, refusing to follow the script in Ross’ head.

“As I told you I have obligations,” George said, voice remarkably cool for the obvious state of restriction and arousal he was in. No fighting against Ross’ fingers digging into the fabric slung around his wrists, no fidgeting for friction. “And I haven’t had a possibility to rid myself of them.”

Ross narrowed his eyes. If George was fucking playing with him he had chosen as bad a time as possible for it. With a rough yank Ross pulled the jacket off entirely, throwing it carelessly to the floor and opening the buttons of the waistcoat but even this obvious strip did not deter George. He still held his gaze, not a challenge but a clear statement. Maybe it was just a shadow created by the dim light in the room but Ross still saw this infuriating small smile playing about his parted lips. Something akin to a growl came out of the brunet’s throat as lust and anger joined forces and he grabbed George by his neck cloth, pulling him into another hard kiss. The fabric gave way and the kerchief’s knot loosened so that Ross’ left ended halfway down George’s chest. His right ran down the banker’s back and cupped his arse through the tight breeches; George’s erection brushed against Ross’ in teasing lightness when he groaned impatiently. Pushing against the banker Ross made him walk back two steps into the room until they stood close to the wall at the right side of the table, between two large windows with the curtains drawn.

Under waistcoat and shirt George’s chest was moving in deeper breaths as he held on to Ross’ sides, the pressure of his hands moving down to his hips. The brunet tightened his grip on George’s small but firm arse and pulled him closer yet to suck at his jaw and kiss his lips hard enough to make him gasp.

 _What a hypocrite_. Here George was, talking about obligations while his hands stroked along Ross’ clothed stomach, undoing the waistcoat’s buttons and reaching for his breeches. The allegedly polite banker moaning when Ross yanked his shirt from the breeches and pushed his hands under the fabric to run his nails along his side down to his hips. George should be fucking thanking him for sparing him the gentry’s dull company rather than acting all high and mighty.

“Did you even try?” Ross hissed breathlessly between kisses, pushing the waistcoat over George’s shoulder and opening the other man’s breeches, “Or were you too busy playing gentleman?”

The words were barely out as Ross’ mind teased him with pictures of the evening. George playing gentleman for anyone but him, charming, polite, and attentive to this woman who touched him far too casually far too often, who made George refuse to adhere to a clear command, who took what was _his_ by rights… before Ross could stop himself he bit down on George’s lower lip, hard, feeling his teeth digging into the soft flesh.

A wheeze came out of George’s throat and he gasped into Ross’ mouth, not from lust but from pain this time and the next thing Ross felt were strong hands pushing him back. He gave a small sound of surprise as he lost his grip on George, stumbling back two steps and reaching for the table to his left to regain balance. _How dare he?_

Rubbing over the spot on his chest where George’s hands had been Ross looked over to the banker. In front of him stood George in a state of undress, opened breeches straining by a clearly defined erection, a half-open shirt that revealed his smooth and well-built chest while his waistcoat lay on the floor behind him. His hand covered the side of his mouth, dabbing at his lip, and when he pulled away Ross saw just how red George’s lower lip was – he hadn’t drawn blood but the right side shone brightly in comparison to his otherwise pale complexion. Ross’ mind jumped at the detail, gaining grim satisfaction from the visible mark he had left on the oh-so-respectable banker. Then he caught his eye.

George’s expression had changed drastically. His eyes were narrowed and all earlier fervour and impatient lust had vanished. What remained was a cold look in the greyish blue irises that caught Ross off-guard almost as much as the insistence with which George had pushed him away. For all his submission George was undeniably his equal in physical strength – and the fact that George made use of this strength could only mean that Ross had crossed a definite line.

George stared at him in icy earnest. ”I don’t _play_.”

If words had edges George’s sentence would have sliced right through Ross in ragged cuts. Every syllable was sharp and controlled, delivered in bitter aversion to the insinuation Ross had dared to make. Ross’ own rage was of a hot and wayward nature but George’s… George was utterly cold.

I don’t _play_. The echo rang in Ross’ ears as the meaning of those words sunk in past the indignation of George’s refusal. His careless statement had hit the only chink in George’s otherwise strong armour. Suddenly nervous, Ross wetted his lips. He hadn’t meant to attack George openly and question his chivalry but looking into the cold blue eyes Ross knew that this would be difficult to take back. George’s humble origins had been a delicate point for him even in their school days and by the look of it George hadn’t lost his sensitivity about this circumstance. Yet for all his business schemes George was the proper gentleman between the two of them, Ross realised. George adhered to society: not because he had to but because he believed in it and relished to be part of it, fully aware of the privilege he enjoyed. All talk of him being inferior to Ross, of catering to him, was an indulgence of his and a concession by George in moments of heated physical intimacy.

With difficulty Ross broke eye contact. There was no way he could apologise to George verbally – for one he wouldn’t believe it and it would be too much of a yielding on Ross’ part. But this momentary pause… Ross looked up again, catching the banker’s eyes and trying to assess the strange situation, trying to figure out if he could go on or not. Ross lifted his arms lightly in a gesture of defeat and in that moment George came closer. His peculiar quiet way of moving was nothing Ross could ever get used to and when George stopped in front of him it was the brunet who wasn’t sure whether he would be hit or kissed.

George gave a tiny nod and before Ross could react the banker pressed himself against him again, kissing his jaw and undoing his neck cloth. Nimble fingers brushed against his throat and his kerchief fell open, followed by George’s hot mouth sucking lightly at the side of his neck. Ross’ heart was pounding hard – his pulse under George’s lips thumped heavily and he gave a small moan at the sudden resolution the banker showed. The fact that it was George who continued what they had started was enough of a sign for Ross that his little mishap was chiefly overlooked.

George’s hands ran over Ross’ sides while the brunet shrugged off his jacket and waistcoat. Soft hands found their way under Ross’ shirt and stroked along his stomach, lips kissing a trail down his throat. Not a moment later Ross’ hands were back on the other man and his right slid down George’s clothed back and into his breeches. A light moan, a grind into him and Ross was beginning to feel the need that had accompanied him the entire evening demand its due. George’s firm arse fit perfectly into his hand and the wet devotional kisses along his neck made Ross eager to move this along.

“Of course I tried to meet you,” George breathed hotly against Ross’ neck, pulling off the neck cloth entirely and moving his hips against his groin, “Did you think I’d ignore you?”

Thoughts of Miss Porter returned to Ross’ mind but their intensity was significantly softened by George’s yearning touches – his hands had opened the buttons of Ross’ shirt and caressed his chest, stroking through his chest hair, while his lips moved up and mouthed along the shell of his ear. Ross moaned quietly as George continued to roll his hips into him; his hand on George’s perky arse followed the momentum and the brunet was getting harder at every touch. Having George touch him so attentively, half-naked in this dim room, in secrecy… Yet as enticing as George’s body pressing against him was Ross still felt that some sort of an answer was necessary.

“Looked like you enjoyed your new toy,” Ross growled, his voice rough with arousal and ringing with a hint of anger, just enough to return to their initial dynamic without crossing the line again. His anger was not entirely erased but at least he didn’t smell _her_ anymore now that George’s coat was lying somewhere on the floor and what had been resentment turned over to being playful, an ingredient to make their encounter more exciting.

George’s lips left his skin but his hands rested on Ross’ waistband, keeping him close as much as the brunet kept him. That particularly infuriating smile appeared on his face again as George agreed to Ross’ proposal.

A well-calculated brush against the bulge in Ross’ breeches and George answered, “She’s a charming woman.”

That little bastard knew exactly how to play and Ross’ heart sped up, his whole being stirred by George, his touches, his words. Ross’ hand withdrew from George’s breeches and instead grabbed him by the shoulders to push him against the wall. A small huff came out of his throat and as Ross pushed his knee between his legs the banker didn’t lose a moment, rubbing against him in obvious need.

“Charming, is that what you want?” Ross growled, George’s heavy breathing like music in his ears.

“Depends entirely on the situation.” George’s voice remained somewhat cool even when Ross stripped him of his shirt, the neck cloth still swaying about the banker’s pale neck. The shirt fell to the floor and the moment George’s hands were free again they reached for Ross’ hips as he tried to pull him closer.

Ross tried not to pay any mind to the banker’s insistence even though he wanted those hands on him, lower, stroking his cock… but this game wasn’t played yet. With effort he kept his hips from moving and looked George into the eyes.

“Well, I don’t want charm but attention.”

His left pinned George’s naked shoulder to the wall while his right slid down his chest. He grabbed the kerchief’s knot and pulled lightly as if to illustrate the point he was about to make. “Your attention, specifically.”

George wetted his lips and moaned when Ross’ hand moved further, over the smooth ribcage and the flat stomach to his open breeches. The pressure of his crotch against Ross’ leg intensified with every centimetre he moved his right downwards. The effortless control over the situation aroused Ross and following a sudden impulse he breathed a teasingly light kiss against George’s neck, feeling the pulse jump under the skin. _Look who’s at the receiving end now_. A hint of salt mixed into the taste and Ross could hardly wait until George was entirely covered in sweat, all indications of his supposed decency turned into something else entirely.

Ross’ hand reached into George’s pocket on an assumption – after all he had given clear instructions. When George gave a wanton gasp and tried to angle his rolling hips to gain more friction his fingers closed around a vial of oil. _How very obedient_.

“Strip,” Ross said, desire ringing in his low voice. George’s naked chest heaved as Ross withdrew his leg and let go of his shoulder.

The banker didn’t lose any time and made quick work of the remaining buttons of his breeches while Ross coated his right with the oil, putting the vial into his own pocket. The fluid was warm from George’s body heat and he had just slid his breeches halfway down his thighs when Ross grabbed him again. His left wrapped around George’s middle in a controlled grasp and with one swift move his right ran down his spine and between his cheeks.

“Ross…” George moaned, hands stroking along the naked skin under Ross’ half-open shirt and the brunet grinned darkly. _Now we’re talking_. Hearing his name from George’s lips while Miss Porter danced in the other room was an alluring turn-on, one that made Ross circle the other man’s hole slowly, almost teasingly. George’s eyes fluttered shut and he leaned against Ross’ grip when he pushed one finger into him, followed by a second immediately. Ross tightened his hold on George’s middle as he moved his fingers inside him, quick and deep. George was so used to Ross’ fingers that he barely needed time to adjust; in fact, his lithe hips began to pick up speed and George moved against Ross’ hand, a wordless plea for more but not a silent one. Wanton moans came from his lips relentlessly and hitched lightly when Ross pushed a third finger into him without preamble, eyes darting open again.

That was the moment Ross caught his eyes and looked at George intently. “I want you to think of no one else but me until you leave this room.”

George bowed his head slightly and when he looked at him from under his long lashes Ross’ pulse gave a jolt. The dry and open lips, the hint of pink in his pale cheeks that not even the half-light could obscure, the devout expression in the blue eyes – that’s what Ross had wanted before and now, finally, he was getting it.

“Yes, sir.”

The breathy sound of George’s voice went right to Ross’ cock and his breath caught in his throat as the word hung in the air between them. For a split second Ross felt like losing control all over again, this time over himself. Low in his stomach a new kind of heat was growing, flooding through him before his mind managed to catch up with his body.

Ross’ head darted forward and his lips all but crashed onto George’s, making his mind spin even more. George tasted of wine, powder and _need_ as his tongue mirrored his hips thrusting against Ross’ hand. In tune with his movements Ross shifted his fingers inside George and gained a choked gasp in return when he lightly brushed over his prostate. Ross’ kiss was aggressive and fuelled with lust when he sucked George’s lower lip into his mouth, putting pressure on the spot he had bitten before. George flinched lightly for a second only to kiss back greedier, to lick into Ross’ mouth.

The brunet pulled back, his chest heaving. “Say that again.”

A rough whisper and a coy look. “I’ll only think of you, sir.”

The very term of address made Ross harder than he had ever thought possible. Formal speech had never been present in his bedroom and the part of his brain that wasn’t fuzzy with alcohol or lust tried to process this unexpected twist. In vain. But what did it matter when George willingly repeated it, his words heightening Ross arousal and pleasure.

All insecurities from earlier vanished – no Miss Porter would ever get this sort of behaviour out of George, give him the satisfaction they gave each other. No, behind closed doors George would always cater to his needs because he was as hooked as Ross himself.

“Good,” Ross murmured in a low voice and slowly withdrew his fingers from him.

George’s eyes widened as he stared at him, a mixture of disbelief and need in his gaze. Step by step Ross’ fingers left his body and the delicious sound of George’s quiet whimper washed over him. Oh yes, he was absolutely in charge – of his own pleasure as well as George’s.

His arm tightened around the banker’s middle and before he had any chance to react Ross made him walk over to the table. In his arms Ross could feel George stumble lightly, taken by surprise and restricted by his breeches but after one step he adapted to the brunet’s directions. It felt almost like a dance when George used the momentum to his advantage and pressed closer to Ross. A secret, dangerous dance but a dance nonetheless, fitting to the party in a perverted way.

Three steps and they came to a sudden halt when George’s back hit the table. Ross kept his grip tight for a moment longer - now that he had the banker’s full attention he was intent on keeping it. What better way than to trap his body, hot and hard against him, the huff of surprise turning over to a sound of pleasure when their erections met.

“Ross,” George whispered and placed one hand on his upper arm. Ross felt his heat seep through the sleeves of his open shirt and just about bit back a moan when George began to move his hips slowly. The friction on his clothed cock was only a light teasing but _god_ he was starved for touch; almost since he first set foot on Sir Hugh’s ground.

George’s other hand carded through his chest hair and slid softly over the outline of his chest. Only his fingertips touched Ross’ skin and the vagueness of the gesture made him give an irritated moan. George had toyed with him long enough and even though the offer in his rolling hips was clearly obvious Ross felt that he should be the one to decide the pace. His arm let go of George’s middle but his hand hadn’t yet reached his stomach when the banker looked up at him with that submissive glint in his eyes.

“How would you like me to make it up to you?” George asked coyly but the rough timbre to his voice betrayed how aroused he was, “I will pleasure you whichever way you want.”

Ross’ throat went dry and his hands ended up on George’s naked hips. This overt display of service, the demure tone, the clear admission of his earlier behaviour – all these features crammed into two sentences and Ross could barely keep himself from just taking George right away, fucking him against the table until they were both sore and spent.

George’s fingertips moved further down and ghosted over the trail of hair leading to Ross’ breeches. A little pull at the waistband made the next rub of George’s cock against him stronger and Ross’ heart gave a jolt.

“I could kneel for you, Ross,” George went on softly and bit the side of his lower lip, “if you like my mouth.”

And how Ross liked his mouth. Especially his lips wrapped around his cock as he sucked and swallowed obediently in the dark streets of Truro – that was no occurrence he was likely to forget and without his intention his eyes were drawn by George’s lips, wet and shimmering in the half-light.

“You could take me on the table,” George said huskily and leaned forward. A shiver ran through Ross when he grazed the base of his throat in a fluttering kiss, “Or maybe you would rather watch me pleasure myself first?”

Pictures were rushing through Ross’ mind - memories or fantasies or rather one and the same? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that George’s words and actions made him rock hard, effortlessly, and that he needed _more_. His heart was pumping heavily and under his fingers he felt George’s hips move, smooth and lithe and oh-so-inviting.

George’s tongue quickly licked his lower lip. “Tell me, sir.”

The denotation surged through him and inadvertently Ross gave a low groan. Of course he knew that George used the term consciously, just as the pressure on his cock took a more insistent turn, but damned if he could resist falling for it. Not only had he craved the banker’s attention all night but also this special kind of submission George did so well. Devout but not suppliant, a gentleman yet a servant by his own choosing. And here they were, finally having reached the moment in which their balance was entirely turned on its head – consciously. This time Ross was certain that George wouldn’t stop him but play along with pleasure.

“Get on the table,” Ross commanded roughly and before George could follow his order he clutched his thighs, lifting him up with force. The banker huffed in surprise when his naked arse hit the wooden surface.

“Rid yourself of your clothes,” Ross growled against George’s lips, not quite kissing him but brushing his skin when he spoke. His hands tugged at the breeches clinging to his thighs and with a casual move Ross grazed the inside of his leg.

“As you wish,” George breathed.

Ross took a step back to give George space to do as he was told and busied himself with his own breeches – as much as he’d like to look at George his own body was already pulsating with desire. He fumbled for the vial of oil in his pocket and undid the buttons of his breeches, gasping lightly when he pushed them down and the fabric rubbed over his erection.

With shaking fingers Ross poured the rest of the oil onto his palm and let the phial fall carelessly to the ground as George kicked off his boots. The dull thud hadn’t faded away yet when Ross finally, _finally_ touched his cock. _Oh god_. Holding on to the table with his left Ross barely felt anything other than receding pressure on the first two strokes – George’s teasing touch had made him almost painfully hard but when the oil trickled down to his testicles and his hand found its rhythm a flash of pleasure surged through him. He breathed out sharply and looked at George in front of him: he had taken off his boots, breeches and neck cloth for good and sat on the table entirely naked. There was no shred of shame or shyness about the man – George looked perfectly at ease as he arched his back slightly in invitation. Even though he was at eye-level with Ross he somehow managed to look at him from below and under his lashes with a small, confident smile about his lips while his hands rested on his thighs almost chastely, framing his eager cock. The glass of champagne stood a few paces up the table and served as a strange accessory to this strangely oppositional picture of seduction and lust; almost like the encrypted sign for decadence in an oil painting.

Ross’ right darted forward to grasp George’s neck and pulled him into a heated kiss. As George spread his legs Ross moved closer to press himself against him, the feeling of skin on skin making his head spin. His slick cock brushed so easily against George’s and Ross’ oil-stained fingers carded through the short hair only to hold the banker firmly in one place; his left slid down the side of his body and came to a rest on his strong thigh. George’s mouth was so warm and inviting and as the clever tongue ran along his it brought with it the taste of wine and something heavier. All silly dress-up pretentiousness was gone as was Miss Porter’s lingering presence – cupping Ross’ arse with one hand and wrapping his other one around both their cocks, all that was left was purely _George_.

Ross gasped lightly into his mouth as George began to move his hand in a decent pace. God, it felt _good_ , the hardness under the velvety skin rubbing against him while George’s hand gave additional friction. As much as Ross hated to admit it: the softness of George’s hands he despised in other contexts added to the sensation and made his hips move. He pushed into the tight grip almost involuntarily, every thrust an enticing wave of pleasure.

Ross felt his desire gaining a sharper edge; he had worked George open already and the thought of him sitting here, ready to take his cock, made Ross break the kiss. George’s pale complexion had gained a light blush and his hooded eyes widened in anticipation when Ross grabbed his thighs on the outside _._

“I want you on your back,” Ross whispered. His hands dug into the firm muscles and with a quick move he pulled George closer to the edge of the table. George’s hands darted out as he balanced himself, falling back on his propped-up arms, and with a second yank Ross draped George’s legs around his middle. He lifted George’s hips, and in one smooth move he thrust into the banker’s stretched hole.

 _Yes, god, so good.._. Ross wasn’t sure whether the words were in his mind or whether George had groaned them out but damn, he had every right to. George felt so amazing under him, well prepared but at the same time so tight that the friction made Ross groan out when he buried himself deeply in George. The banker threw his head back with a coarse groan. Sprawled out on the table, barely managing to hold his own weight on his arms, cock flush with arousal… the sight of George in this state was arousing beyond measure and Ross grabbed his hips harder, holding him in suspense for a moment longer. In his grip George started to squirm as Ross pulled back slowly. His chest was heaving and sweaty under his open shirt but still George deserved a bit of provoking distress. He threw Ross a glazed look, mouthed a quiet “please” and the brunet all but slammed into him.

George gave a shout and his hips jerked against Ross’ strong grip when he began to thrust into him roughly. Ross groaned as the legs around his middle tightened and the heels of George’s feet dug into the small of Ross’ back; whether to hold on or to encourage he didn’t know. All he could process was the heat George gave off and the slick sounds filling the room as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. George felt so _goddamn good_ around him, his passage massaging his cock so well and his movements perfectly in tune with Ross’. He changed the angle slightly and when George moaned a strained “Ross…” his throat produced a growling sound he did not remember creating. He made the next thrust deep, deeper than before and the banker shuddered under him. Ross’ every thrust was plainly visible on George’s body – it ran through him in a wave, from his narrow hips into his flat stomach that rippled with each move and further on into his well-built chest. George’s arms gave in and when his back hit the table Ross’ next thrust ended in the taut muscles of the banker’s arms as he held on to the table’s edges.

Suddenly, Ross’ hands on his hips weren’t enough. Ross leaned forward and let his hands wander from George’s hips along his sides and with an abrupt move came to a rest next to his shoulders. George’s thighs pressed closer as the brunet leaned over him, and the next moment Ross’ lips sucked greedily at his throat. His left elbow knocked over the glass George had placed on the table; champagne spilled over the surface as it fell onto a chair, shiny pieces dropping to the ground. On instinct Ross’ left reached for the puddle and dipped his fingers in it while his hips still ground into George persistently. His mouth moved to the base of George’s throat and Ross lifted his torso a bit; then, he placed his finger on George’s chest and drew a wet circle around his nipple.

The banker groaned deep in his throat and Ross felt the sound more than he heard it, reverberating through him. He smiled darkly against George’s skin before his lips left his throat and slowed down his thrusts ever so lightly – he didn’t want George to come on the spot, not when there was so much more to draw from him.

“Please, Ross…” George moaned in protest as he pushed up his hips in need but Ross’ right grabbed them tightly, pressing the banker back on the table. George’s pupils were blown with lust as he looked at Ross pleadingly. But the brunet only bowed his head to bring his mouth close to George’s nipple. Under him George tensed, still trying to gain more friction from him when Ross breathed over the skin wet with champagne. With satisfaction he saw gooseflesh break out on George’s skin – little pinpricks all over the immaculate skin. Another lazy circle of sticky champagne, a shallow thrust of his hips that left George shivering in need and Ross licked over the hard nipple in one long stripe.

The sweet taste of the champagne hit Ross first, then the tinge of salt from George’s skin. The hitch in the banker’s breath sounded like music in Ross’ ear and when he sucked at the nipple George’s chest arched against his mouth in a sudden jolt. God, George was so responsive – the tiniest hint of attention on his chest and Ross could easily turn him into a panting mess. His fingers wandered upwards, leaving a wet trail of champagne on George’s skin. Defined muscle under smooth skin, his collarbone, the hollow of his throat and up to his chin, listening to the sinful sounds falling from George’s lips. Ross’ champagne-coated fingers outlined George’s lower lip when suddenly he felt a hot mouth close around them. George’s tongue swirled around his index finger as Ross sucked on his nipple. The brunet looked up to see his fingers disappear into George’s greedy mouth and his hips picked up speed again.

Ross’ body was glowing in heat and arousal as his cock slid in and out of George in a fast pace. The trail of champagne shimmered dimly in the half-light and with a groan Ross licked up to George’s throat. It was moving under Ross’ mouth as George sucked greedily at his fingers, dragging his tongue over the coarse skin. The banker’s pulse drummed against Ross’ lips – an exciting invitation to suck a mark onto the skin, to clarify once and for all his claim on him. George moaned around his fingers and with a wet sound Ross withdrew them.

Ross could feel his pressure building as he traded hard and fast thrusts for deeper ones. Under him George’s moans took on a rasping sound and when Ross hit his prostate with the next push his back arched off the table, knuckles turning white. Ross couldn’t keep his eyes from the sight: in the dimly lit room George’s skin looked even paler than usual and gave the beautiful arc of the tense body a gleaming quality. He bowed his head to kiss, no, to lick a messy line down the middle of George’s torso while his hips dragged along the other man’s prostate once more. The arc became steeper along with the growling sounds spilling over George’s lips but this time Ross pressed him back on the table with his weight, trapping his leaking cock between their naked stomachs.

Ross moaned at this change of angle – his cock slid deeper into George and the banker groaned in pleasure. God, George was just so eager and ready to take whatever he was given and Ross couldn’t wait to see him come undone. Sweat was wetting the brunet’s shirt and made his curls stuck to his temples but he paid no heed to it; all that mattered was the lithe body under him and the friction on his cock.

George’s right left the table and grabbed a fistful of Ross’ locks. The brunet’s scalp tingled when George pulled sharply and craned his neck to reach his lips, burning with desire for a kiss. How appealing to deny him but what little resistance Ross had vanished at the look of need in George’s hooded eyes. He crashed their mouths together and licked along the swelling on George’s lower lip before messily kissing him.

Ross felt George’s cock twitch against their stomachs, his thrust smearing pre-cum all over. He knew that the banker wouldn’t hold on much longer – Ross was thoroughly wrecking him with every push yet for a moment he wished he could take George even harder even though his breeches restricted him at calf-height. As if George had read his mind he snapped his hips against Ross’ cock with more force, drawing a groan from the brunet. George was needy to begin with but seeing him turn into a greedy mess by his touches sent another hot wave through Ross’ sweaty body. He ran his right ran along George’s leg to press it closer to his side as he continued to thrust deeply into him. The banker’s breath was coming short now, joining the strained groans from Ross’ throat.

George grabbed the brunet’s left on which he still balanced his weight. Tantalising strokes shoved up the shirt’s cuff and ghosted over the inside of Ross’ forearm before George took a hold of it, digging his nails into his skin. Ross gasped at the sudden sensation and lifted his head: George looked at him with need in his eyes and his dry lips parted. On his lower lip the light swelling bloomed in red from where Ross had bitten him before, a beautiful mirror image to the strained skin around his nipple. George was far gone, holding on to Ross’ arm and the table’s side to grind his hips relentlessly in tune with the brunet’s thrusts. The heat his body gave off burned through Ross as George rubbed desperately against him, eager to gain enough friction to come.

Ross snapped his hips harder which drew a deep moan from both of them. His hand on George’s leg tightened to lift it higher as he slid his arm under his knee. The new angle asked for a faster pace, and low in his stomach he could feel his orgasm fast approaching.

“Please, Ross… sir…”

They were dragging each other closer to the edge with every word and every thrust alike, feeding off their desperation. George’s voice was on the verge of breaking and his fingers dug deeper into Ross’ forearm. His body felt on fire – George was so compliant, so eager, so _perfect_ for him, giving him pleasure with every thrust and hearing George call him _sir_ in this entirely devout tone… he knew he wouldn’t last much longer as he pushed into George hard and nailed his prostate with every thrust now to watch the banker lose all composure.

George’s chest arched under his moving hips and without a second thought Ross’ head darted forwards, once more closing his lips around the banker’s hard nipple. He could feel George’s passage twitch around him as it shot sparks of additional pleasure through his cock. George must be so close and it was Ross, Ross alone who could draw those sounds from him. The brunet ground his hips even harder to the ragged strings of sinful sounds and when Ross scraped his teeth over his nipple George climaxed with a raw shout. His hips stuttered, jerking Ross’ cock in an intensity that made him lose all control. His hips took on a life of their own and thrust into George in a messy rhythm that spread the banker’s release over both their stomachs. He was so close, so goddamn close and dug his nails into George’s thigh, feeling the muscles contract under his grip. George was still panting heavily as he rid out his orgasm on Ross’ cock; his legs wrapped tightly around the brunet’s middle and Ross hardly reacted on his own account anymore. His head was spinning and he could hear his blood rush through his body when George’s hole trembled around his erection. He pushed into him in driven need, his mouth on George’s arching chest, his hands pulling him back on his cock and with the next thrust he came into George with a deep grunt. His hand scratched along the length of George’s thigh but he hardly heard the low gasp when he spilled into him, pushing his hips against him with force and pressing his face into the crook of the banker’s neck. Pleasure shot through his whole body that left him trembling as he breathed heavily against George’s skin, inhaling deeply, listening to his moans and knowing that he, Ross, was at the centre of his attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plan for the ball was to put it all in one chapter... but as I was writing this our two special friends decided to spend a bit more time behind closed doors. The next chapter will wrap up the party and it's almost done - so no 2 month wait, promised.


	12. The Gardens // Nampara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George returns to Miss Porter who has a question about his lip and wishes to speak to him.  
> Ross goes back to his glass of brandy.  
> Dwight? He's doing his job. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No porn this time but quite a bit of tension...  
> Thank you all for still reading this little story! <3

George walked through the corridor in a quick pace. From downstairs the music resounded in a muffled fashion, enriched by the murmur and laughter of the guests and the clinking of cutlery and glasses. With a quick brush of his hand George smoothed his neck cloth to make sure that his throat was entirely covered in case Ross had actually succeeded in sucking a mark on his skin. George smiled to himself. It was only the moment that Miss Porter had leaned into him that George understood the nature of Ross’ agitation fully. Of course he had been aware that their affair was taking a certain direction and that Ross actually enjoyed his body rather than taking it as a replacement for someone else’s; Elizabeth as a pretend reason had long since served her purpose. But that Ross was so invested despite their obviously missing emotional connection and showed himself so very possessive when faced with a direct opponent – not a fitting word, but what else to call Miss Porter, George wondered – had been an interesting twist. Knowing about this particular weakness made Ross’ bite a small price to pay.

Still, the ‘playing gentleman’ comment had been uncalled for, leaving him irritated when it arose again in his mind. George knew that it was not Ross’ aim to provoke and remind him of his humble origins; it had been more of a sudden statement roused by anger. Its impact wouldn’t be understood by someone with Ross’ background. As much as George was a gentleman he’d never enjoy the reputation the Poldarks did. Maybe in time, a few generations down the road the name Warleggan would be recognised as old money but for now they were the nouveau-riches in a room full of ancient families. Regardless, pointing it out to his face was a border George did not allow anyone to cross. Too much was caught up in it, too much of his own pride and the shame he had endured during his school days. But that was long ago. These days were his, and he wouldn’t be put down by anyone.

In Ross’ defence, however, he had taken it back quickly enough. Part of his non-verbal apology was surely his driven need but George was fairly pleased with himself to have clarified that his submission was restricted to their intimate encounters – something Ross had evidently struggled with until now. _Let’s hope he doesn’t forget it._ The ‘sir’ naming had certainly driven home the point of a utopian space between them but most of all George loved what it had kicked off in Ross. How he got off on marking him. His body felt comfortably heavy and with a bit of luck Ms Porter had found another gentleman to dance with or felt a little tired herself.

Miss Porter. George took his watch out of the pocket of his waistcoat and creased his forehead. His encounter with Ross had taken more time than he had anticipated and suddenly he hoped that his father did not pick up on his absence. And that Miss Porter was still as charmed by Cornish society as she had been before.

George’s steps became brisker as he hurried down the wooden staircase and looked over the crowd from his elevated view. Ross had already mingled with his acquaintances again, a glass of brandy in his hand, and raised it mockingly when their eyes met shortly. But George was not interested in any further power games tonight – he merely nodded and continued to look for Miss Porter. There she was, in a group of women chatting amiably among themselves and as he approached she turned around, meeting him halfway.

“I must apologise, Miss Porter, for keeping you waiting so long,” George said as he reached her.

She smiled. “Oh, not at all, I enjoyed myself talking to Miss Penvenen. She is lovely, is she not?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Forgive me, but your lip…” Miss Porter looked at his face, almost shyly, “it looks swollen.”

 _Dammit_. He hadn’t had a chance to check on himself in a mirror before returning to her – and now that she pointed it out the dull throbbing returned to his lower lip.

“Well,” George said, feigning surprise as he lifted his hand and carefully touched his mouth. The skin was tender to the touch and indeed his lip was swollen. Ross had really bitten down hard.

Miss Porter looked at him in concern. “Are you quite alright? You did not get into a fight with Mr Poldark, did you?”

“No, of course not,” George hastened to say, forcing a lopsided smile lest the pain in his lip intensified, “I am fine, thank you. I don’t know what could have caused it.”

“Mr Warleggan…” she hesitated, “Do you suppose you can spare a minute for a private conversation?”

“Certainly. May I suggest a walk around the garden?”

Whatever the topic of this private conversation it saved George from making up a more tangible excuse for the state of his lip. He offered his arm and led Miss Porter outside onto the patio. George took a deep breath; it was a late-summer night, possibly one of the last of the year. The air was still warm and held only the slightest hint of the fast approaching autumn.

“Mr Warleggan…” she began as they wandered along a carefully groomed bed of bright flowers.

“Please, George.”

“George. May I start by thanking you for your kind and charming companionship tonight.”

The banker smiled. “I have to thank you.”

Even though the answer was an automatic one he understood that he had actually been in luck – Miss Porter had been delightful throughout the evening and even his absence had not led her to feel unheeded.

Yet instead of exchanging further pleasantries she continued in a serious voice. “I want you to understand that what I’m about to say should best be kept confidential. And it is not meant as an attack or an estimation of your character.”

“Of course. You have my greatest discretion.”

Strange, this sudden change in mood. But George highly doubted that the subject of the following words would even need the discretion he so readily offered.

Miss Porter looked at him in earnest. “It is clear that this meeting of ours, arranged by our respective fathers, I might add, should culminate in sympathy. And eventually, if we are not entirely averse to one another, a marriage is a likely outcome in the eyes of my parents.”

George raised one eyebrow in surprise. She was right, beyond doubt, but he sincerely hoped that he hadn’t given off the impression of courting her. “I assure you that…”

“Please, George,” she interrupted him, “let me continue. I am aware that we both are in a precarious situation that makes the idea of marriage a daunting one. Your swollen lip is only one indicator.”

This conversation was taking a very strange direction and the renewed mention of his lip made George uneasy. He was wearing the mark of his secret plainly visibly but that anyone, and especially not Miss Porter, should decipher what it meant was almost impossible. George highly doubted that the rest of the gentry had enough imaginative power to put words to what Ross and he were doing. Of course he couldn’t speak for her but she had seen the one flaw in his appearance and now she intended to disgrace him with it? George stopped in his tracks turned towards her.

“Miss Porter… I’m afraid I don’t quite follow.”

Her even face showed a serious expression that made her look mature beyond her years, even in the half-light. “You and Mr Poldark might be business associates – but as things appear to me you are also involved otherwise. In a way society frowns upon.”

“What do you…”

The meaning of her words hit him like a blow to the gut. _She knows_. George’s stomach twisted as the idea unfolded in his mind. Maybe she had followed them, watched them, and now aimed to threaten him with her knowledge. Or maybe she had already taken steps: if young Miss Porter had the impudence to bring up such a subject to his face who knew who she had already talked to beforehand. But before George could bring himself to disperse her statement as ridiculous and maybe threaten her in turn she went on.

“You do not need to respond, please just listen to what I have to say. I do not intend to make you justify yourself, accuse you or any such thing. I merely like to point out that it is a dangerous game that you are playing. And on such a public stage at that.”

She paused briefly, looking for a reaction in George’s face. But the banker simply held her gaze, waiting. So he was right – this entire ‘private conversation’ notion was a cover-up for her to play her cards. If George hadn’t been at the receiving end of her scheme he would have been impressed.

Despite George’s stern look Miss Porter went on in a firm voice. “There have been a few remarks about the unusual interest between Mr Poldark and yourself. Nothing definite yet and it might take the lords and ladies another while to decipher the signs. But rest assured that they will, in time.”

George couldn’t help but scoff, politeness be damned. It all seemed clear to him now; Miss Porter wanted something from him, be it money or marriage, but he certainly wouldn’t let himself be threatened by a mere girl who thought a swollen lip meant sodomy. In that moment, George himself did not even believe it, despite the obvious markings on his body and the barely dried sweat, the smell of Ross still clinging to him.

“No matter how civil you intend to keep this conversation,” he said, keeping his voice composed but cold, “it remains a vile accusation and a threat.”

Miss Porter did not look offended or shocked in return. To George’s surprise, a smile appeared on her lips. Small, warm, and infused with a sense of awareness. “Not in the least. For I prefer the company of my own sex, too.”

George stared at her for a second, trying to make sense of her words. This conversation with its twists and turns was verging on a farce, a play in which he performed without knowing the script. The anger he had felt moments before turned into confusion and surprise yet the honesty and calmness in Miss Porter’s voice captivated him; not only had she understood his own affiliation but also gave up her own in such a candid way. She had to be serious for such things were not said in jest.

“I do not presume to know your preferences,” she went on, “but if you find yourself in need of, say, a relationship that can be displayed in public I shall offer my companionship.”

George cleared his throat. “How do you…”

“Well, being in a similar situation myself I see the signs,” Miss Porter answered his unfinished question lightly, “Mr Poldark hardly left you out of his sight earlier and whenever I stood a little too close to you I gained a rather dismissive look.”

He had evidently misjudged her in more than one respect. George felt a feeling of appreciation grow – she had played her part perfectly throughout the evening and the way she had constructed this conversation and played him… _She is clever_. Good thing the rest of the gentry were less observant or else their secret were out in the open. Come to think of it Miss Porter hadn’t needed to show her own hand. They were at an impasse, both knowing something significant to harm the other but not without dragging oneself in. Though this was surely not her intention. It seemed a fair warning among like-minded individuals and her offer was certainly an interesting one. The only problem might arise if he ever fell in love with a woman… but love, George thought, was a fickle thing. With Ms Porter he’d have a presentable marriage and no questions of adultery would ever be asked between them. It seemed an understanding based on similar yet different interests and mutual respect. Not to mention the social benefits.

Still the thought that she knew about him and Ross was a strange one. And from one meeting alone. Their affair was coined by secrecy which was now broken, almost as if a spectator had suddenly appeared from behind the curtain, bringing with her unspoken questions that filled George’s mind. Without knowing exactly why he felt the sudden need to justify himself, to explain to her how exactly his and Ross’ arrangement worked.

“Mr Poldark and I aren’t exactly…”

Exactly what? George creased his brow as he looked for the right term to describe their involvement but Miss Porter laid a hand on his arm, smiling at him.

“Please, don’t tell me. The nature of your relationship is your concern alone. The less I know the better. Take your time and consider my offer. In the meantime I would like to return to the house. It is becoming rather chilly.”

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

 

Dwight leaned back in the chair and stretched out his long legs; in his right he held a glass that looked even smaller in his large hand. He was tired but a little too wired to sleep yet. It had been an exhausting night – like Dwight had thought Jinny had gone into labour. Luckily the birth had been mostly smooth and so he had left the family just after three in the morning. Upon his return Dwight found Nampara still empty. Either the party was not nearly as awful as Ross had prophesied or he had taken up room at Sir Hugh Bodrugan’s after all. Like George most likely had.

Dwight sighed. Their strange meeting on the doorstep of Nampara had been a while ago and even with such a distance Dwight couldn’t shake a strange feeling. He had clearly intended to talk to Ross about it – not to confront or, god forbid, accuse him of something Dwight still wasn’t sure was happening. No, just to hint into the direction of the rumours. But no occasion had presented itself and with every passing day the very idea to broach such a subject became more ridiculous. Besides, he hadn’t heard any reiterations lately. Maybe he was the problem, Dwight thought gloomily, for ascribing too much importance to drunken slurs.

The tapping of heavy boots announced the following creaking of the door as Ross dragged himself inside. Surprised, Dwight shortly looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Just before four in the morning – he hadn’t thought to see Ross before noon the next day. But there his friend was, throwing his hat on the table and shrugging off his coat before he took a look around the parlour.

“Dwight,” he said, making an effort in focussing his eyes on him, hair in disarray, lids heavy, and slurring lightly.

“Good evening, Ross.”

His friend stored away his riding equipment with heavy moves. Then, he walked over to Dwight and let himself fall onto the wooden bench across from him.

“Did Jinny have her baby?” he asked and rubbed through his face.

“Yes, I just got back. Mother and child are well, it’s a healthy boy.” Dwight took a sip of his drink, quickly deciding against offering one to Ross. He was well into his cups already and another one wouldn’t exactly help against the impending hangover.

“Good… that’s good,” Ross mumbled slowly, “We should get them something for the child.”

Dwight nodded. “How was the ball?”

“The usual,” Ross sighed, tugging at his neck cloth, “Same people, same chatters and games… enough liquor to stomach it.”

“And Miss Porter?” Dwight asked carefully as not to alert Ross to the part of his narration he was actually interested in.

Festivities like those were indeed similar – but ever since Ross had mentioned George being accompanied by Miss Porter Dwight’s curiosity had been piqued. It was clear that a man of George’s standing was expected to be married at some point and anyone could see why the Warleggan’s aimed to make a match with the Porters. While the politics of match-making did not exactly captivate Dwight the result of it might: if George were to marry the girl there wouldn’t be any grounds for rumour anymore and the chaos in Dwight’s mind would find rest, eventually. He wouldn’t have to talk to Ross and could finally go back to being the good friend he had so intended to be.

Ross looked up. “She was news indeed. Have you met her before?”

“Once in Truro. Only in passing, though.” Dwight took another sip before casually asking, “Did George like her?”

A steep crease appeared between Ross’ eyes at the question. “It would appear so.”

 _Good_. The frown was nothing out of the usual when talking about George so Dwight suppressed his hopeful smile and Ross went on, muttering, “Though it’s always difficult to tell with him.”

“I thought it were easier for you, having known him for so long.”

Ross’ frown intensified. “Nothing’s ever easy with George.”

Ross had never told him the full story about their youth and whichever events had happened that caused such a rift between the two men. Dwight himself was fairly certain to have grasped George’s overall character and could anticipate at least some of his demeanour. His initial weariness had grown into a functioning way of coping with the man. What surprised Dwight most, however, was that Ross did not appear to have that talent, not even after years of school and recent social occasions. Somehow, his friend seemed to have a blind spot when it came to George.

Ross’ sentence hung between them for a moment, gaining a strange weightiness but Dwight did not know what else to say. Further questions looked suspicious and now certainly wasn’t the time for casual chatter. Finally, Ross stood up slowly, nodded at him and squeezed his shoulder as he turned to make his way upstairs.

 _A drunk mind speaks a sober heart_. And from what Dwight could gather his hopes concerning Miss Porter and the whole thing simply blowing over was not a bad bet. No need to trouble Ross, after all. _Unless_ … Dwight finished his drink and got up, walking towards his room. _Unless I hear another word on it. Then I’ll talk to him_.

 

 


	13. The Warleggan's Mansion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George is weighing his options and Ross is returning from Truro early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so, we sort of re-plotted this fic. Not entirely but to a decent amount. This is why you only get a short chapter this time... sorry. It didn't quite pan out chapter-wise like in our first draft but I promise you that the next chapter will have the usual amounts of words. And porn.  
> Meanwhile, I hope this short intermezzo bridges the time.

George sat at the desk in his study and turned the feathered quill in his hands. In front of him lay a sheet of paper, carefully addressed to Miss Porter. The words invited her over next week, on Wednesday, to join him for tea in order to chat amiably among friends and to shed some more light on the suggestion she had made, of course in all discretion and only if she was still inclined to discuss it. Yours sincerely - .

George only had to put his name under the handwritten text, seal it and wait for an answer. He didn’t hesitate as such; it was more the strange feeling that this letter was important for him personally. No mere contract or a calling in of loans from a client. This letter held potential for change. What was only a notion now would become a solid idea and take its course.

Ever since the night at Sir Hugh’s George’s thoughts had taken a different turn. Of course the evening had been very eventful in more than one respect – neither Ross nor Ms Porter had behaved like George had anticipated but that did not deter him. Quite the opposite was true since a multitude of new possibilities had opened up to him in one instance. And the more he learned about his companions the better. Ross’ jealousy was intriguing but the actual surprise, the event he turned over in his mind constantly, concerned Ms Porter.

So she knew. If George was honest he was grateful that Miss Porter had found out about him and Ross rather than Cornwall’s gentry or even his own father. He would not have survived the outcry resulting from it and with him his whole family would have been dragged down, all their efforts lost in one single accusation. George shifted in his chair. At the time he hadn’t seen the danger inherent in the situation. What mattered was only the excitement of meeting Ross privately while the other guests went about their business. But Miss Porter was right: they were playing a dangerous game to begin with and the public notion about it was one step too far, the step that would make them trip and fall eventually. George remembered very well the sinking feeling in his stomach as she had confronted him. To think that it could have been someone else… But it had been Ms Porter and she wouldn’t tell a soul.

Strange enough too that his father had picked out the one girl who wasn’t out to get him. George wasn’t a conventionally attractive man and he didn’t hold any illusions about that. Young women at any social occasion who aimed to catch his eye and hope he’d ask them to dance didn’t do it for his charm or his looks. They knew that he was a rich, eligible gentleman and considering who else was still unmarried in Cornish society he was definitely one of the more appealing prospects. That didn’t change the fact that George couldn’t stand the thought of being married to any of them. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the company of women in general. What really bothered him was the vision that inadvertently arose in his mind, the moment they let their masks fall and were truly trapped with each other.

With Miss Porter that moment would never occur. They certainly didn’t know each other well – one ball and a meeting made somewhat awkward by the presence of their respective fathers was not a basis for actually claiming to know someone. The decisive factor, however, was not the knowledge about each others’ taste in music, clothes, politics or any such thing. No, the unmistakable advantage they both had was their honesty with each other. Their marriage wouldn’t consist of a nagging wife and a bitter husband who attempted to drag each other down as far as possible. Nor would they be the glamorous couple who barely listened to a word the other one said. Miss Porter and he would have a respectful relationship in which everyone could do as they pleased. In fact, George thought, they could become friends. And what better basis for such an undertaking? Both of them could follow their own preferences without any indecent questions.

His own preferences. At the moment Ross was definitely his preference George thought and tugged at the neck cloth that hid the deep purple love bite the brunet had left on his skin. He hadn’t heard from Ross since the ball but George was sure that things between them were fine. Ross let out his jealousy (and in what an enticing way) and George forgave the comment that had questioned his gentlemanly behaviour. Besides, tomorrow was market day in Truro and if their notable routine was anything to depend on Ross would call after his errands. There was no reason for him to break their tradition and George would be at the house a little earlier, making sure everything was taken care of in time for Ross’ arrival.

George smiled a thin smile. With a swift move he signed the letter, folded it and pressed the seal of his ring into the dark red wax. If Miss Porter turned out to be a woman of her word (which somehow he did not doubt for a moment) things were about to become a lot more interesting for him.

 

* * * * * * * *

Market day in Truro had been surprisingly efficient for Ross – he took care of all necessary shopping quickly enough, had lunch at the Red Lion and luckily managed to avoid Francis and Elizabeth who were strolling around the market place. He hesitated for a moment and considered exchanging a few pleasant words as sign of his goodwill. They had briefly chatted at Sir Hugh’s, quite agreeably, too. But talking in the middle of Truro might lead to an invitation from Francis that Ross was still not comfortable accepting. And this kind of rejection might destroy what he wanted to build up with a chat to begin with. No, it wasn’t yet the time to approach them. Besides, his mind was already occupied by his meeting with George. So Ross had left Truro and even though he didn’t hurry to get back he made good time, reaching the Warleggan’s mansion early.

“I wish to speak to Mr George Warleggan,” Ross said to the servant who opened the door and bid him into the parlour.

“Mr Warleggan is indisposed at the moment, sir.”

Ross raised one eyebrow. Indisposed? They had a clear appointment and the servant certainly knew who he was.

“Well,” he said, “when will he not be indisposed?”

“I cannot say for certain but I estimate it will be another half-hour, sir,” the servant answered, “Would you like to wait or call again later?”

“I’ll wait.”

“Very good, sir, please follow me.” The servant walked him into a sitting room and took Ross’ hat and saddle bags as he sat down. “Would you like a drink while you wait?”

“A glass of wine.”

“Of course.”

Ross creased his brow. Yes, he was a little early, but what kept George so shortly before their meeting? Maybe he was actually conducting business, ruining some poor soul before getting into bed with Ross. Ross wondered whether George could maintain such calm before his visit. Ross himself was usually in a particular mood beforehand; a strange mixture of keenness and tranquillity, a feeling of purposefulness because he knew what would happen but anticipation as to the _how_. The thought that he was but another appointment in George’s calendar didn’t exactly appeal.

But before he could continue this train of thought the servant came back into the sitting room, placing a glass of wine on the table next to him.

Ross thanked him and idly followed him with his eyes, through the room and across the threshold where the servant picked up another tray. Ross narrowed his eyes as a reflection bounced off a small but beautifully cut glass phial. Next to it laid a wash cloth, a bar of soap and something that looked like dried lavender if he could make it out from the distance; regardless, those were bath supplies. Ross was denied a closer look at the items when the butler turned, carrying the tray towards the stairs and a moment later Ross heard the by now familiar sound of the creaking staircase.

Well, if that wasn’t intended for George. Ross’ lips curled into a smile – not just another appointment, then. George apparently had as much a ritual before their meeting as Ross had his peculiar mood. And this definitely explained the faint lavender scent as well as the softness of his skin.

Suddenly, a nervous pair of feet walked along the corridor, unseen to Ross – a scutter and a hush halfway up the stairs where the servant with the tray must be. Words spoken in a low whisper and then the light chime of metal on wood as the two servants walked down the staircase again and past the section of Ross’ vantage point. They were in a hurry, the tray nowhere to be seen and with a discreet click the door Ross knew lead to the gardens was closed.

Ross drew his brows together and finished his drink before standing up. He walked over to the door to peek out into the corridor – no one there. _That is strange_. Whatever event had caused the two men to disappear so suddenly must have been significant. Maybe a mishap in the gardens, an injury of sorts. For a moment Ross considered finding out and offering his help if needed. But then again the men’s behaviour indicated that Ross should not take any note of whatever had happened lest their reputation suffered.

He turned to walk back into the sitting room when the tray drew his eyes again. Placed on the last step of the first set of stairs it stood there unguarded, waiting to be picked up. A slow smile spread over Ross’ face. That looked like a perfect invitation to pay George a visit. With a look down the corridor he reassured himself that no one was around; then, he walked up the stairs, took the tray and made his way to George’s private bathroom.

 


	14. George's Bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since all you lovelies made it so bravely through two chapters without porn I've got a present for you: over 10,000 words of voyeurism and intense bathtub sex. I hope you enjoy it!

The door was ajar when Ross reached the threshold, carrying the tray with bath supplies in his hands. An eerie silence filled this part of the house – as Ross well knew these were George’s quarters and no one but his private servants were allowed access. And him, of course. But as was fitting for such a nouveau-riche family there were a multitude of rooms for George to use and so far Ross hadn’t seen the bath. He drew closer to the door as he thought through his options. It all was depending on the layout of the room, really. If he walked in and George’s eyes fell upon him immediately a different sort of approach would characterise their meeting than when only George’s back faced him. In any case Ross was determined to proceed quietly; who knew which possibilities lay behind this entrance.

With his breath held Ross peeked through it, trying to map out the room in advance. First things first – his eyes met neither George’s nor his reflexion in a mirror. In fact, the tub was positioned at an angle to the door that he was sure that the banker could not see him without turning around. But he could see George. Sitting reclined in the large, white tub (which rested on gilded feet as Ross noticed in disdain) he could make out the back of George’s head and a fraction of the side of his face. The room was fairly large and from his vantage point Ross saw the right wall in which windows were let in, high enough to keep anyone from looking inside. Only a few rays of the autumn sun fell through it to paint a clouded pattern on the floor. The glass was steamed over and indeed a wave of humid air crept through the crack in the door to wash over Ross.

Next to the tub, on the left and nearly obscured by the angle Ross’ gaze had, an empty tea trolley was positioned. This must be the spot George wanted the tray to be placed – comfortably within an arm’s reach from his spot in the tub. _Well, that can be arranged_. Ross checked the items on the tray and pushed open the door with his shoulder, careful to carry the supplies with ease. One step into the room and the missing details filled in the sketch in his head: to the left there was a fireplace in which a few flames licked idly over dry wood, warming two towels and a dressing gown on the rack in front of it. Farther along the wall Ross noticed a bench with a pile of folded clothes which undoubtedly belonged to George.

Ross smiled a slow smile. Maybe he could get away with delivering the tray unseen and then just wait for things to unfold. A certain kind of curiosity flooded through him. On his way up to the bath he had entertained the idea of fucking George in the tub without much ado, drenching the floor in silent evidence of their affair. But this moment here was a chance, a new situation and certainly something original could be gained from it. As of now the banker wasn’t aware of his lingering gaze and if Ross kept it that way he had a chance to see how George behaved naturally. _Intriguing_.

With soft steps Ross walked the distance from the door to the tea trolley on George’s left, careful not to make any more sounds than a butler would. He kept a little to the right as he approached, careful to react to George’s behaviour. Well, if he actually cared to look George would possibly see him out of the corner of his eye but Ross relied on the banker’s experiences. Someone like him was certainly used to servants around him and wouldn’t pay special attention to the sounds of routine which Ross intended to imitate perfectly.

In a cautious move Ross placed the tray on the tea trolley and dared to cast a quick look at George – the banker had his eyes closed, luckily, and his head rested on a small cushion in his neck. Since Ross had just brought in the supplies the water was entirely clear and the brunet’s eyes lingered shortly on George’s body. His legs were comfortably stretched out, right hand resting on the slim stomach. Through the water his fingers looked more brutish than they actually were – but then again, George’s hands didn’t seem to have a fixed form. At times they appeared slim and elegant, at other times the working class heritage couldn’t be denied. Ross wasn’t sure how this impression came about but somehow it fitted to the overall essence of George’s character. The fingertips of his left hand rested on his thigh and formed an arch, half a grip, half letting go and directed Ross’ gaze to the strong muscles he knew were there. Ross licked over his lips as his eyes moved on to follow the extension of George’s framing hands. His soft cock and the groin adorned with light hair were neither covered nor on display – evidently George didn’t take issue with his own nakedness, neither when with him nor when he knew a servant attended to him. Who knew what else he was comfortable doing with them. Ross was fairly sure that George would be dominant with anyone but him, be it a man or a woman. _And I’d like to see that_. The thought hit him without preamble but at the same time Ross understood that it was actually true. Not that he would ever admit this particular idea growing in his mind in just this instance but watching George with someone else, in charge rather than needy like he was with him, made a well-known pressure grow in his lower stomach. Surely George would be authoritative in voice, self-assured in demeanour, taking what he needed and pleasuring his partner exactly in the way he wanted… but before Ross could get carried away he snapped out of it. _Don’t go there_. Maybe there was a time and a place for that but it definitely wasn’t now.

Instead of entertaining the thought further he moved his eyes up George’s body. Over his pointed hipbone Ross could make out a smudged bruise that had the suspiciously familiar shape of his hand; a detail that did nothing to ease his tension verging on arousal. Along George’s lithe side Ross’ eyes travelled higher to the water quietly lapping at his ribcage and placing little licks on his defined chest. The span of George’s muscular back fitted easily in the tub. Its sides reached to his shoulder blades and he leaned comfortably against it. His usually pale skin had taken on a rosy colour from the heat; small clouds of steam rose from the tub and Ross felt the humidity casting down on his forehead. George still wasn’t stirring and so the brunet dared to look on for another moment, his eyes tracing the prominent collarbones and the hollow spot they pointed to. How easily he could just lean over George and dip his tongue into it, move on to refresh the love bite on George’s neck, the one from Sir Hugh’s party still blooming in a faded lilac.

As much as Ross wanted to admire the view a while longer he withdrew from the side of the tub – he wouldn’t put it past George if he felt his eyes on his skin. But where to go? Ross looked back to the door again and took in the only part of the room he hadn’t paid attention to yet. He was in luck: next to the entrance there was a small wooden bench, positioned in George’s blind spot. _Perfect. Let’s have a look at your ritual._

“Thank you, Samuel,” George suddenly said, “that is all, you can leave me. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

Ross walked back to the door and closed it from the inside, making sure that the click of the lock was clearly audible. There was no change in George’s posture but in Ross’ – from now on he was the intruder, the spy, the voyeur if one went that that far, and for it to work he had to remain silent. His heavy boots were definitely the wrong choice for his endeavour but Ross made an effort to walk softly over to the bench next to the door. George didn’t so much as move when Ross sat down, mindful of every step and gesture. His heart beat against his ribcage a little faster as he settled in and leaned his back on the wall. Just a few meters away from him George was soaking in the water, naked and unaware of his audience of one. Ross saw the cotton hair, still dry and styled, and George’s neck and part of his shoulders; the view of his neck was partially obstructed by the cushion on the edge of the tub.

This was quite something different, spying on George like that. Well, he wouldn’t take it to extremes, of course – and George wouldn’t have any complaints afterwards, that much was clear. To be fair Ross would snap if he was at the receiving end of this situation but somehow he couldn’t picture this scenario as something that George was opposed to. Sitting here and waiting to be witness to George’s ritual before their meeting was just too interesting to care for possible consequences.

A sloshing sound fixed Ross’ attention entirely on George whose arm reached out to the tea trolley on his left. Ross tensed up slightly. If he were to be seen now, without anything having happened, his entire care would’ve been for naught. But George didn’t so much as glance at the tray, his fingers taking the dried lavender bouquet, and Ross relaxed again. Of course George would have expensive lavender to scent his water with, Ross thought in contemptuousness as he thought of his own simple bath at home. But what did he expect in a house of affluent bankers.

George drew the flowers through the water a few times and when he leaned forwards Ross was tempted to re-evaluate his harsh judgement as more of the banker’s back came into view. This was the perfect place to let his eyes linger on George’s dry skin and enjoy the part of him Ross was especially keen on.

The imprint of the tub looked reddish on George’s otherwise immaculate back; a memento of the expensive and decorative garments he usually wore to conceal his fairly broad shoulders. Along the spine and up his shoulder blades the muscles shifted slowly with every drag of the flowers through the water; a smooth spectacle of strength and elegance that Ross’ eyes were suddenly drawn to. The movements of his muscles seemed to exceed their actual purpose and gave George’s entire frame the impression of being in motion. How this was possible Ross couldn’t figure out when every change in George’s back looked like _that_ , like taking on a life of its own and out to capture Ross.

He grabbed his neckcloth with his right and as he loosened the knot he grazed his fluttering pulse. The heady scent of lavender hit Ross’ nostrils and drew him into the scene entirely, the smell an invitation to enjoy the intriguing set-up before him. He felt the beginning of an erection when the scent almost wrapped itself around him and served as a reminder of all the times he had taken George. Ross tried to breathe slowly– his fingers were aching to touch him but at the same time he had the feeling that he’d spoil whatever else might happen. He dug his nails lightly into the palm of his hands and shifted soundlessly in his seat.

Another leisurely drag of the lavender, a slow dance of cooperating muscles on George’s back and he fastened the flowers on the far side of the tub. Ross licked his lips as he watched the length of George’s bent back and his mind filled in what his eyes couldn’t see. The narrow hips, the firm arse, the hole so ready for his cock… but before Ross decided to act on his thoughts George leaned back again; this time, he slid a little lower and rested his arms on the edge of the tub, comfortably settling in.

Ross’ eyes travelled from the fingers of George’s left hand over the prominent knuckles and over his forearm. His skin was adorned with light hair that Ross conceived of rather than actually saw from the distance, leading up to the bent elbow and the upper arm that looked muscled but not overly trained. It guided Ross’ eyes over the soft curve of his shoulder joint to the darkish blond hair lined up with the little cushion – Ross couldn’t see his neck but the bumpy shoulder that gave way to the right upper arm, as lithe as the left. These were the arms of a man who could hold his ground in a fight but would prefer to keep things civil.

He had seen George naked like that before, stripped of his insignias. Hell, he had come undone under him many a time and Ross had revelled in seeing the state of debauchery he left him in. But the contrast was a stark one: even without clothes and properly taken George had always been… well, he had always been George. The attitude and demeanour he showed in society and behind closed doors were obviously miles apart but what unfolded in front of Ross right now was different from any of this. Entirely different.

George didn’t appear to move at all; the only motion Ross vaguely saw from his spot was the rise and fall of George’s chest in slow succession that didn’t trouble the water in the tub. His head rested on the little cushion and though Ross had no way of telling he was sure that George’s eyes were closed. Ross had observed him remaining still a few times – in fact, George was one of the most controlled men he had ever met. Publicly, he would never make an impulsive gesture or a move that would show his actual feelings on a situation. But now it appeared to be a stillness of a different kind. Maybe it was the reclined position or… no. Ross narrowed his eyes and let them travel over the other man’s naked back once more, trying his best not to be diverted by the smooth shape. The muscles looked loosened up, all tautness so inherent to him was gone. George was actually relaxed.

Ross’ heart beat heavily and an unintentional smirk formed on his lips as the realisation took hold. The banker revelled in this moment of ultimate privacy and he, Ross, was an intruder and a witness alike to a version of George he hadn’t thought existed.

Whether it was the superiority of his position or the undisturbed gaze that began to excite him Ross didn’t know. But before he could spend another thought on it George’s head disappeared from his sight and he heard a distinct sloshing sound, the lapping of water against the tub walls. Then, George resurfaced slowly with his hair sticking to his head. Drops ran down his neck and lost themselves in the wetness of his back as he bowed his head and splashed water on his face. George’s hands rubbed through his face and carded through his hair that looked much darker now. All deliberate styling was destroyed and suddenly Ross longed to see George without his trademark curl, hair combed back and exposing his face. _See you without distractions_. His hands moved on into his neck with what looked like a firm stroke, leaving a momentary change of colour on the skin. Ross couldn’t draw his eyes away from him and he felt his cock stir; the ease in George’s moves was astounding and the dance of movements on his shoulder blades a piece of art in itself.

George Warleggan, not only naked but stripped.

Trails of water ran down George’s neck, along the sinews on the side Ross could barely make out. All thoughts of taking him roughly and making the water swash over the edge of the tub were gone – the intense calmness Ross saw in George carried over to him. He wanted to trace those wet trails with his tongue, lick over the pale skin that held a hint of a blush from the hot water, move down George’s back, slowly and deliberately, every lick and swipe of his tongue designed to relish what was offered so readily. His heart was beating heavily and heat seeped through his body, whether from the outside or inside he didn’t know. It built up slowly, a stirring in his lower stomach and moving on from there to every pore.

In front of him George took the bar of soap from the tray and ducked it in the water before foaming it. Ross hardly saw any of the actual movements but he could tell what was happening solely by the flexing of George’s back. Had he thought about this scenario before he would have claimed that George bathed like he did everything else that wasn’t connected to Ross: efficiently, precisely, and without a superfluous move. But now Ross saw how mistaken he had been when George all but savoured the moment. His hands stroked over his chest almost leisurely and Ross heard a little hitch in the banker’s breathing that was quickly drowned out by the surge of the water. Still, the small sound carried through the humid air and seemed to travel through Ross – a taste of what he would hear later on when he had his hands on George, slowly taking him apart. Under his clothes he felt hot as the banker’s hand moved out of his sight and stroked down his torso slowly, over the firm chest and slim stomach Ross knew well. The display on his shoulder blades was of an equally relaxed nature; the muscles under his skin worked smoothly, giving Ross enough time to follow the flow of the movement.

George put the soap back on the tray and washed off the remaining foam from his arms. His hands glided smoothly over the wet skin and into his neck, the glistening fingers stroking the hair at the base of his neck to wipe away the traces of soap. Then, to Ross’ disappointment, he leaned back again, returning to the position he had had before.

Ross wiped off the sweat forming on his brow and shifted in his seat as silently as possible; remaining still had become more difficult with the even arousal that spread through his body, paired with the intensity of the situation. Yet now a hint of apprehension snuck into his demeanour. It was difficult to say what would happen next, whether George remained in the tub for another while and simply relaxed or whether he got up to dress for their meeting. Maybe he could leave before that happened and wait for George in his room or…

A low sigh interrupted Ross’ musings and focussed his attention back on George. The banker didn’t relax in his tub any longer – or rather, not in the way he had before. His right arm had left its place on the side of the tub and Ross could hear a distinct sound of lapping water as the banker scooped the water from his stomach to his chest. But instead of repeating the motion George’s hand remained where it was. His relaxed sigh turned into a moan and his left disappeared from Ross’ vantage point, too – the same slow rippling of water sounded together with the deeper breathing coming out of George’s throat.

Ross froze, his heart hammering in his chest. Even though he couldn’t see what George did the sounds told their own story: George’s fingers were teasing his nipples. His back and shoulders moved only slightly in tune with his breathing but it wasn’t difficult to put images to it. In his mind’s eye Ross saw George’s pink nipples as he rubbed over them, leaving them hard and glinting with wetness. How responsive they were, how easy to make George moan deeper solely by playing with them and making his way down… but sitting here, unbeknownst to him, was for once almost as good as actually taking part. With wide eyes and desperate not to miss anything Ross watched George arching his back. A huff sounded, the huff George usually gave when his nipples were pinched, and Ross thought of all the times he had grazed them with his teeth. Another cloud of lavender scent wafted over to Ross and he could almost taste it on his tongue as if he licked over George’s skin.

In front of him the rippling of water receded to a quiet trickling and George’s back shifted. Ross lightly bit his lip as his mind filled in what he couldn’t see: George’s right slid down his stomach and between his legs, wrapping his hand around his cock underwater. He was certainly hard if the quiet but longing sounds coming from his lips were any indication and Ross pressed his lips together in an effort to remain silent and most of all undetected. Normally he’d be naked in the tub in a hot second at this scene but he was still captivated by George’s calmness and right now he thoroughly enjoyed his covert position. His body was pulsating – no sharp need this time, rather an even excitement that flooded his every cell.

George gave a low moan, turned his head slightly and for a second Ross wasn’t sure whether he was seen. _Maybe he’s putting on a show_. George had an exhibitionist streak as Ross well knew – his arousal heightened as he remembered the words he had made George say, how he had told him about wanting to be caught. _Caught by me, to be precise_. The notion had turned Ross on as much as George and here he was, watching the banker stroke his cock. Yet somehow Ross didn’t believe in a staged scene; not only because he wanted this to be real (and _god_ did he yearned for it) but because George would behave differently if he were aware of Ross’ eyes on him. This kind of relaxation was nothing he’d ever show to anyone, Ross thought. But what did it matter anyway when George’s heavy breaths and his slow moans caught his ears and Ross could make out the moving hips by way of watching his flexing shoulders. It all had the tone of being deliciously wrong, of immorality and arousing consequences, of secrecy and seduction.

Without a conscious decision Ross palmed himself through his tight breeches and his fingers found his hard cock. Watching George pleasure himself without being noticed, to get away with such an exciting coup… Ross ran his hand lightly over his bulge as George leaned his head back on the cushion and his left returned to his chest while his right continued to pump his erection. The brunet could tell that he wasn’t aiming to come – his movements were too slow and too uniform to bring him near the edge. Which could only mean that George was desperate even before their meeting, before he set foot on the premises. Ross’ hand rubbed harder along his clothed cock to take the edge off but it felt so good to make the tension recede and built it up again while looking at George doing the same thing. Before Ross could stop himself he flicked his thumb over the tip which ripped a low moan from his throat. He bit on his lower lip but it was too late – the sound was out and in the tub George stopped his motions, the known rigidness returning to his shoulders. His head turned slightly but not far enough to catch Ross in the corner of his eye.

“I said,” George hissed, voice hoarse from arousal and sudden anger, “I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

The sinews in his neck stood out and Ross saw the stern streak forming on George’s jaw but somehow the brunet was neither fazed nor nervous at his sudden discovery. He felt calm – this had nothing to do with a challenge they were both so very fond of. George was obviously riled up but this was what he knew it all resulted in. And instinctively Ross realised that George would settle down the second he saw him.

“I heard you.” Ross spoke quietly and yet his words echoed unmistakably through the room as he stood up.

George didn’t turn his head further to look at him. He continued to stare ahead but the tension in his shoulders ceased at the sound of his familiar voice, validating what Ross had assumed. This intuitive knowledge and the certain kind of ease Ross was wrapped in seemed to seep through his entire body. His arousal blended in perfectly to create an excited calmness which he didn’t know was possible but took a hold of his mind, too. He was alert but nowhere near tense, rather settled in the moment and experiencing everything in detail. His heartbeat reverberating heavily through him, the fabric of his breeches rubbing lightly over his cock. The humidity in the air scented with lavender and the shining skin of George’s back, the drops of water still clinging to his shoulder blades.

Slowly, deliberately Ross walked towards the tub.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 _I heard you_. The words still rang in George’s ears, sounding faintly distorted by the tiled interior of the bathroom. Ross’ words which gained a whole new dimension now that he knew that he had been there the entire time. He had heard him alright. Heard everything.

George thought that something had moved in his back but dismissed the thought immediately. His servant was usually obedient and not prone to lingering glances and secretive behaviour. And he had heard the definite clicking of the door. Little had he known that Ross had closed it – from the inside.

George’s heart beat heavily in his chest as his thoughts rushed to make sense of what was happening. Ross had left him to believe he was alone for such a long time as all the while his eyes were following his every move. He watched him prepare the water with flowers, watched him relax, wash and… and touch himself. Seen him in a stage of privacy George didn’t allow anyone to witness. This was his bath after all and his word was the one that counted in these halls.

But no such rules seemed to apply to Ross. George knew he should feel violated and outraged at the situation. Demanding an explanation from Ross was the least – the impudence of his action was bordering on trespassing, let alone the utter disregard he held for George’s privacy. Yet George couldn’t deny the arousing quality the thought had.

In the bottom of George’s stomach a stirring grew and he couldn’t pretend that it was only irritation. In fact, the amount of irritation he felt was quickly annexed by the incredibly enticing fact that Ross had watched him closely. And that he liked it. The stifled moan he had given when George worked one finger into himself and continued to pump his cock spoke for itself. Ross was not only watching but affected by what he saw. Maybe he had touched himself too, to the picture laid out in front of him, to George being hard without his influence…

George’s fingers were still on his cock, unmoving, but now that the idea was fully blooming in his mind he stroked over it once more, slowly, before he placed both his hands on his thighs. His nails dug lightly into his skin to the sound of trickling water as George tried to calm himself and prepare for whatever else might be happening now. He leaned heavier on the tub and remained as he was – he wouldn’t turn around and give Ross the gratification of his initial surprise as he started to walk slowly around the tub. Instead, he continued to look right ahead, listening to the heavy steps on the tiled floor as Ross came into his view one by one. A cool draft hit his skin and George felt the hairs on his arms stand up.

There was nothing pretentious or overly casual about the way Ross moved, no indication that he intended to make use of his superior position. Quite the contrary – something predatory had sneaked into his demeanour as he covered the last few steps and came to a halt at the side of the tub, directly in George’s line of vision.

The first thing that leaped right at him was that Ross was still fully dressed. Here George was, visibly aroused, not wearing a stitch on his body and in front of him Ross presented the absolute opposite. His breeches weren’t open like George had hoped, not even the overcoat was shed. Only the neckcloth was loosened and his forehead appeared sweaty, framed by a shock of dark, frizzy hair while his breeches were strained by a clear bulge. George breathed out slowly and pressed his palms to his thighs. His cock was almost entirely hard and the sight of Ross, aroused and clothed, made his blood rush in his veins. The water’s heat seeping through him only added to the sensation of relaxation and arousal as it lapped idly at his ribcage. God, how he wanted the brunet to come closer to the tub. If he stood in front of him George would run his hand over the strained breeches and tug them down while he still remained in the hot water, naked and wet. He’d close his mouth around Ross’ cock and suck –

Suddenly, George’s wandering eyes were captured by Ross’, no chance for him to escape the attention bestowed on him.

There was something strange in Ross’ dark eyes. George had anticipated a superior smirk and a comment that would turn this situation into another power game. The set-up was perfect, right from his unawareness of his audience down to his private behaviour. Yet Ross didn’t speak. His face was serious as ever with its prominent eyebrows drawn together in concentration, his head bowed to look George in the eyes. His lips were parted slightly but not in a smile of any sort. In fact, the cocksure air bordering on cruelty so well-known to George was missing entirely; Ross showed an intensity that was staggering even by his standards. Only a faint spark showed in his eyes, a glimmer that spoke of excitement but mixed with a sentiment of… of what? George couldn’t quite determine what else this gaze held, the one that had watched him from the beginning, but it was stripping him all over again. Slowly, unapologetically, and undeniably arousing. George breathed out raggedly when Ross took one step towards the tub. In a swift but unhurried move Ross placed his hands on either side of the tub and leaned over him, still restraining George with his gaze, and pressed his lips on his mouth.

Ross’ dry lips met George’s wet ones and for the fraction of a moment the banker felt the opposites coexist. As if they weren’t actually touching, close yet separated, until a drop from his upper lip ran down and connected them. The sudden pressure felt amazing – Ross kissed him neither roughly nor gently but with an insistence made George give a low moan as he leaned his head back and craned his neck. Ross loomed over him and even though he kept his hands on the tub’s edges George felt like the brunet touched more than only his mouth. A hot trail ran down to his groin as Ross intensified the kiss; somewhere between the nip to his lower lip and the tongue sliding slowly into his mouth George tasted longing and arousal, wrapped into a force he couldn’t yet determine. The only thing he knew was that this kiss was different. Excitingly so. George ran his tongue along Ross’ and the brunet leaned closer in encouragement, his particular taste joining the scent of lavender. His mouth was soft and the wetness from George’s lips travelled to Ross’ with every touch, with the next swipe of George’s tongue that Ross welcomed without resistance or clearly defined dominance.

The only hint that Ross was in charge was his breaking of the kiss. He pulled back and looked at George, centimetres from his face, and the banker saw the dilated pupils and the sweaty brow up close. It was a goddamn miracle that Ross still wore all his clothes instead of taking him roughly in the hot water. Maybe his voyeur presence had evoked this peculiar mood. Which wasn’t to say that George didn’t like it – this was intriguing and when Ross pushed himself up from the tub’s edges he saw the brunet’s tongue dart out to lick his lips.

He took two steps back, returning to the place he had stood before, and with the same serious gaze Ross lifted his hands and tugged at the neck cloth. George tensed, a shiver running down his wet skin as he followed Ross’ fingers. One tug, another one, and the neck cloth was only a length of silk in his hands that he threw onto the bench, on top of George’s neatly folded clothes. Even though it was the smallest, most insignificant piece of clothing on Ross’ body George’s eyes grew wide. Because Ross Poldark stripped front of him. And he was allowed to watch.

Under the waistcoat the collar of Ross’ shirt fell open and bared his sinewy neck. Before George could fully form the thought of what he wanted to do to this patch of skin Ross shrugged off the overcoat in two well-calculated motions; the heavy fabric landed on the floor with a dull thud. George leaned back onto his cushion and tried to breathe evenly under Ross’ intense gaze, knowing fully well that his expression was closely observed – but this time he was the voyeur and determined to enjoy every moment of it. This was the exciting beginning to a situation that would inevitably end with Ross joining him in the tub, naked, wet, and hard with desire.

 _No rush_. The relaxation George had felt before Ross’ appearance came back but with a sultry twist, running through his body along the thin line of arousal and repose. His eyes remained on Ross’ long fingers which undid the waistcoat’s buttons calmly, deliberately, and even if this strip wasn’t of a teasing nature the banker felt enticed. Not only was he given the privilege to watch Ross undress but undress _for him_. George’s fingers ran lightly along the inside of his thigh underwater as the brunet undid the last button. The waistcoat joined the coat on the floor and Ross made quick work of his boots, his eyes straying from George for the few moments it took to get rid of them. George watched the dark curly hair fall into Ross’ eyes and took in the uneven outline of the brunet’s shoulder before it disappeared under the fabric.

Ross straightened up again and locked eyes with George. Barefoot and dressed only in shirt and breeches he radiated an energy that caught the banker off-guard again; their respective stillness was but a frail container for what was brewing inside Ross. George was utterly captivated by the dark eyes and he shifted in the tub, leaning back onto the cushion as the water trickled accordingly and washed pleasantly over his cock. God, how hard he was solely from watching and being watched like that, openly and with utmost concentration. In his face he could feel a blush bloom as his eyes wandered down to the hollow of Ross’ throat and the dark chest hair that peeked out from under the shirt.

Ross remained serious when his hands ran along his neckline to find the back of his shirt. In one slow yet smooth move he pulled it over his head and George’s gaze jumped to the waistband of his breeches. With every inch of the white shirt leaving Ross’ skin more of his dark body hair became visible, a line guiding George’s gaze over the hard, bumpy muscle of his stomach and the pointed hipbones to the broad expanse of his chest. The clearly defined outline gleamed with sweat from the humid air and the olive skin seemed to gain a richer tone in the golden autumn sun streaming in from the window. To run his hands over the strong muscle, to card through the chest hair… with every falling piece of clothing George became more aware of the restricted nature of his position, the tub’s edges the clear line that was still intact.

Ross’ head re-emerged from the shirt, hair even more in disarray than before, and as he pulled off the fabric from his arms George followed the curve of his shoulder that gave way to muscular upper arms. Ross was undeniably a hard worker and the sight of this broad but lean build made George bite his lip in an attempt to remain silent. In any other situation he would have long since whispered Ross’ name in appreciation and need but it wasn’t sharp arousal that had a hold of him – despite his longing to touch Ross he didn’t grow impatient and all but savoured the almost eerie silence they were wrapped in, the carrier of this particular mood.

Not even the slightest hint of a smile played around Ross’ lips as he undid his breeches and slid them down his thighs, all the while fixing George with his gaze. His eyes looked almost entirely black and even if George had tried he wouldn’t have escaped this form of restraint. This whole display, this strange situation drew him in like nothing he had experienced before with either man or woman. He could only see Ross’ thighs and his cock from the corner of his eye but it was enough to know that the brunet was as hard as he was.

Ross stepped out of his breeches, entirely naked, and came closer to the tub again. In the water George’s body felt thoroughly warmed and responsive; something about the soft lapping of the bath had turned his initial surprise into calm excitement that grew steadily with every step Ross took into his direction. He sat up right again when Ross stood next to him, hoping for another kiss, but to no avail: Ross’ right didn’t reach for George but for the tub’s edge as he climbed in.

A short flash of irritation flickered over Ross’ face when the hot water hit his skin but that didn’t deter the fluidity of his movements – the second leg followed and he knelt down, hovering over George. The banker swallowed heavily. Ross was so close but he didn’t touch him yet; only his knees rubbed against the outside of his thighs in the enclosure while his hands held on to the tub’s edges for balance. Then, he leaned forward and when his lips met George’s the banker’s mouth was already willingly opened.

George still had to crane his head slightly but the growing heat in this kiss was more than worth it. Ross’ lips were more forceful, hot and soft on his touch-starved mouth and even though George didn’t touch him he felt the ragged rise and fall of the brunet’s chest. Yet still it didn’t cross over into raw hunger, from neither of them. It was there, lingering on the periphery of Ross’ caressing lips but only came close enough to make the brunet catch his lower lip between his teeth. Ross wanted to experience every touch in its utmost fullness and George couldn’t agree more when his tongue slipped into his mouth slowly. His hands found Ross’ curls and ran through them, dampening the frizzy mane and when the brunet breathed hotly into his mouth, hands still on the tub’s edges, George understood the novelty of the situation: all carefully marked-out roles they had played so well over the past months were irrelevant right now.

George’s right dampened the curls as he pulled Ross closer in new resolve. God, this kiss gained intensity with every passing second. Ross’ lips were demanding and George held up with the same force as the brunet let himself sink into the water further. Ross’ dry chest under his left moved and George traced the hard muscles up to his collarbone to the tune of his own thumping heart, hard but slow beats. Inch by inch Ross slid down to sit on George’s thighs; not close enough for their erections to touch but the sudden weight and the rubbing of their skins underwater made George deepen the kiss. The sound of the disturbed water mixed with both their heavy breaths as Ross’ right pushed him gently back against the cushion and broke the kiss.

Ross studied his face intently and with an almost rough move he stroked George’s slick hair back. His left placed itself lightly on the middle of George’s chest as if to make sure he’d remain in his reclined position. Not that George would go anywhere – not with Ross so close to him, so intense in his demeanour that it demanded all attention from the banker. He saw the muscles in Ross’ arm tense as he leaned forward again to press his lips on the hollow of George’s throat and only then did he understand the gesture: he gasped lightly when their erections brushed against each other and inadvertently arched his back, pushing against the brunet’s fingertips. A pleasant wave washed through George at the feeling of Ross’ cock against his, close but not close enough to turn this over into sharp lust. No, Ross and he both wanted to savour this rather than make a quick fuck of it after all. His hands began to move almost on their own accord and met in Ross’ front where he scooped up a handful of the scented water and let it run down the other man’s stomach.

The first drops had barely made it past his belly button when a deep breath left Ross’ parted lips and the dark eyes stared at George. _God, the intensity on that man_. He looked stunning, sitting on his thighs like that, half clothed in the water’s blanket that they shared. Almost as if it were his element. George sent another handful of water down Ross’ stomach and immediately, the brunet reacted: he all but arched into the narrow flow in a sinuous move that George couldn’t take his eyes off. Ross’ eyes fluttered shut as his head tipped back slightly and he pushed out his dry chest. His nipples were almost at one level with George’s mouth but the banker was too enthralled by the sight of Ross’ hips arising from the water to take action. His thighs tightened around George and just when his body broke the water’s surface Ross’ lower back bent in a shallow curve, leading George’s eyes along his pronounced sides and the lean build giving way to a broad ribcage. Ross’ right was still stretched out to touch George’s wet chest but this time it wasn’t to keep the banker at bay; this time, the gesture stabilised himself. George felt his breath come shorter at the utterly immoral sight and as Ross’ hips pushed forward he bit his lower lip, determined not to ruin this moment with unnecessary sounds. A deep moan closed up his throat when the tantalising brushes along his erection spread through his groin and out of the blue George knew what he was looking at.

 _A male siren_.

The very picture of seduction and sin, of promise and danger, a composition to draw George in regardless the consequences. And it took a hold of him.

George’s heart drummed heavily and his skin began to heat up even more, a drop running down the side of his face whose constitution he couldn’t entirely determine. His fingers lightly touched Ross’ stomach as he lowered his hands to scoop up water once more. The third handful started a little higher, trickling down from just under his nipples. Down the trail of dark hair that was well on its way of becoming damp, down the rippling stomach until the drops joined the water’s surface that clothed his cock. Still no sound fell from Ross’ gleaming lips but the blown pupils made their own statement and when the last of the water had gone George’s hands followed the trail over the muscled stomach beyond the waterline.

The water was almost clear save for the foam of the soap and through it George saw Ross’ hard cock and his hairy thighs. They were pressing against the outside of George’s legs with more force than before and he stroked upwards, feeling the strong muscles under his fingertips twitch. Even underwater he could tell the smoothness of the skin covering the thick flesh and with every inch his hands wandered up he felt Ross’ desire – it radiated off his skin, his fingertips, his hungry eyes and on instinct George reached farther to cup Ross’ arse and pulled him closer. Their erections rubbed against each other in a sudden stroke and a stifled moan stumbled over Ross’ lips that sent sparks through George’s groin. From deep within his throat the sound had come, hushed and repressed but unmistakably there, a moan that travelled through George and left a thirst for more. It still rang in his ears when the brunet began to grind into him, measured in speed but with a force behind it that bordered on need. Jesus, it felt so _good_ , this slow, sultry friction that seeped through him and charmed every nerve ending in his entire body. Under his hands Ross’ arse moved beautifully; it was as firm as the rest of his body and with every intense thrust the brunet delivered he pulled him closer with soft pressure. The slow drag of his velvet skin on his cock made George’s thighs tremble as Ross’ hand broke the water’s surface, wrapping itself around both their erections. Warm pleasure ran through his groin and George moaned as quietly as he could, careful not to disturb the muffled sounds with a sharp noise. His eyes were fixed on the other man’s beautiful mouth, the full lower lip glinting invitingly as if it only waited for George’s mouth to touch it and just as he tried to reach it Ross leaned forward. His hand pumped their erections slowly and his lips brushed over the banker’s in the mere ghost of a kiss. George’s breath became ragged, the barely-there touch nowhere near enough for his desperate mouth. He wanted to kiss Ross deeply, in tune with his moving hand, licking and sucking along his jaw, tasting his desire for him but before he could carry out any of it Ross grazed his lips again and moaned quietly into his mouth.

A siren indeed and George hopelessly fell for his song, eating it right off his sinful lips.

George’s right cupped the side of Ross’ face lest he disappeared again in evasive lightness and licked over his lower lip, into his mouth. The taste of lavender seemed to be everywhere by now but it couldn’t hide the dark and heady scent of his own; together with his hand on their cocks Ross seemed to take over George’s senses, every sensation he experienced tied to the brunet. And how skilful it was – his long fingers delivered just the right amount of pressure to take the edge off yet stroked slow enough to keep him miles from coming. Ross ground deeper into him in tune with his moving hand while his left moved to the middle of George’s chest, fingers brushing along the base of his throat. His chest was moving in heavy breaths and George’s eyes fluttered shut as he gave himself over to the gentle heat drumming through his veins. Under his hands Ross’ thrust continued and made the bath water move, lapping at his ribcage and George understood why men drowned at sea.

But then Ross’ grinding slowed down and George couldn’t stop a protesting groan as the fingers around his cock did the same. Before his relaxed brain could attain any meaning to the dwindling sensations Ross looked at him with parted lips and a growing need in his eyes. His hand emerged from the water and grabbed the side of the tub when he slid off George’s legs in a smooth move.

No words were necessary for George to understand. With the help of Ross’ hands he turned around in the narrow enclosure of the tub and got to his knees, facing the door now and the bench from which Ross had watched him. Just a few steps away and George felt a rush of arousal run directly to his cock as he replayed the situation in his mind. Now Ross was behind him again, hard, wet, and even though he couldn’t see him the picture was clear in his mind. And not long from now Ross would be moving inside him and bring them both over the edge.

George spread his legs as far as he could and placed his hands on the tub’s edges next to the cushion. In his back he could hear Ross shuffling, the water sloshing and the resulting current ran along his cock in teasing lightness. God, with every passing second of anticipation his body grew more sensitive to the barest of touches. The even arousal he had felt gained a sharper edge without any kind of friction and for a moment he considered touching himself; but then Ross’ breath hit his skin followed by his hot lips kissing down to the nape of his neck. George’s eyes fluttered shut at the minimalist contact and a trail of gooseflesh broke out along his back, an extension of the kiss that only reminded him of the missing pressure on the rest of his body. With a low moan he bowed his head when the brunet’s hands touched his shoulder blades and slowly stroked down his back. Inadvertently, George arched into the touch, twisting his body in a wave as Ross’ warm hands stroked along his arse. _Touch me, Ross, please.._. The words screamed in George’s thoughts but no sound came over his lips as he hoped for Ross to fill him up and build on that lust growing in his lower stomach.

Ross’ hands moved on to his hips and George barely felt pressure; the long fingers didn’t dig into his flesh like the countless times they had fucked before, Ross’ grip ironclad as he pulled him onto his cock. Instead, they scarcely directed him and when Ross’ frame pushed against George’s wet back and his cock rested against his hole the banker thought that maybe his thoughts had been loud enough.

George breathed out a long breath. His wasn’t prepared like usually – he had only worked in one finger before Ross appeared but the sensation of his cock breaching him was far from unpleasant. Despite both their need for each other Ross didn’t rush. Calmly he pressed against him, giving his body time to adjust. And George adjusted quickly.

The mellow stretch Ross’ cock gave him was so _good_ after the drawn-out build up and, almost impatiently, George pushed back on him. He wanted more friction, more contact, more of _Ross_ to cater to the desire throbbing through him, always on the edge of becoming demanding but still with a calm his mind didn’t quite follow. Inch by inch he felt Ross’ cock fill him up, rubbing along his passage in a constant push that was just about enough to keep him in line. In his back Ross gave another of these quiet moans which went directly to George’s cock as he half licked, half kissed down the side of his neck, his hips moving restrainedly. Whether to tease or out of consideration for him George didn’t know and neither did he care – what mattered was the feeling of Ross’ cock between his cheeks. And in that moment the brunet’s grip on his hips gained more pressure as George felt him move.

 _Oh yes_. A quiet wheeze escaped George at the drag of Ross’ cock inside him – it was slow like every touch he had granted him so far and imbibed with the same dark concentration that made the sensation so incredibly powerful. Every little move and twitch of Ross’ sent a shiver of pleasure through him as he settled in a rhythm of deep thrusts, dragging his lips over the banker’s neck without suction or kiss. George’s pulse beat heavily against his mouth and the brunet’s quick tongue grazing it made him grab the tub’s edges tighter. Ross’ hands moved away from his hips, out from the water and up his sides; one hand moved up to his chest and while the other wound around George’s torso and rested on his stomach. A slow stroke, an almost gentle movement that ended in a firm grip around the entirety of George’s chest like a siren’s embrace and with undeniable certainty he knew that if Ross were to take him underwater for the final act he wouldn’t fight back. Too enthralling was the feeling of Ross’ cock sliding in and out of him with slow intensity, every push deeper than the last, too enticing the pulsating lust his touch built up.

George’s body was covered in sweat by now and he threw his head back, leaning it on Ross’ shoulder with his eyes fluttered shut. The broad frame covered him almost like a blanket when his wet skin rubbed slickly over George’s back, not allowing for any space between them – the strange intensity had carried over to this moment, to Ross breathing hotly onto his neck while his hips ground into him. The hand on his stomach pulled him closer to the brunet and George felt how his cock dragged slowly along his prostate. His low moan sounded ragged as he leaned heavier onto the other man’s chest. Ross’ thrusts were so _deep_ and despite the heightened pleasure George almost felt at ease again. How that could be possible he didn’t know but when Ross’ hand on his chest moved upwards he placed his right over his. Moving along his hard nipples but not so much as brushing them their hands stroked up, over George’s collarbones and along his offered gorge.

For just a split second the fingers under George’s hand placed themselves around his throat entirely, his Adam’s apple jumping against the brunet’s hand. Inside him Ross’ cock dragged over his prostate again and George shivered in pleasure at the perfect timing. Such a position of offering he was in but without their usual difference in power it became something else entirely. His presented throat a sign of devotion, of pleasure that was mutually offered and accepted when Ross’ fingers moved on to brush over his clean-shaven jaw. He turned his head towards him, kissed him slowly and this time it was George who moaned into Ross’ mouth. His hips thrust into him slightly faster now and George tasted a hint of impatience in the kiss, the scale tipping from slow arousal to need.

Ross broke the kiss and changed the angle of his thrusts. Just a slight change but George felt every spot Ross’ cock stroked inside him. And _god_ it felt good, the drag sending a wave of sparks through George’s groin. He timed his hips to Ross’ thrusts and leaned forward again, both hands grabbing the tub. George arched his back and not a moment later Ross’ hand drew along the outline of his spine before clothing him with his chest again.

George spread his legs farther as Ross’ thrusts picked up speed decisively. The water in the tub was set in motion and its phantom hand stroked George’s cock. Teasing, evasive, and just what George needed – the gentle current joined forces with the brunet’s moving hips and he felt a flutter in his lower stomach as Ross pushed into him like that, stronger now, every twitch of his cock a tantalising promise. In his back he heard his ragged breath that washed hotly over his wet skin. Ross’ fingers dug harder into his side but still didn’t aim to direct him and George moved in tune with him, determined to make the brunet feel as good as possible and get the same energy in return.

Ross moaned quietly when George’s arse moved against him, taking his cock harder. His hips showed a need that joined forces with George’s own and the sudden change in angle as they moved in unison let Ross nail the banker’s prostate with every thrust. _Ross_ … George gasped at the deep and heavy drags over his sweet spot and his hips lost their rhythm as he purely reacted to the staggering sensation inside him. God, this was like nothing he had experienced before. With a needy whimper he grabbed the tub tightly for support as Ross’ hand was back on his hips to guide them with a strangely gentle push. But before George could think more of it he regained his rhythm and the next drag along his prostate made him take over the momentum. He moved against Ross’ groin in smooth and hard thrusts as the brunet groaned, throaty sounds coming from his lips, travelling directly into his ear. A low, guttural siren song that seduced George’s mind and body alike.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh was almost indistinguishable from the water’s sloshing noise but no drop fell over the tub’s walls. Both their need grew with every move of Ross’ cock inside George and the banker felt himself coming closer to the edge. Still his cock was untouched but before he could take care of it himself Ross’ hand moved to his stomach, down his body beyond the waterline and George’s next thrust met the tight circle of the brunet’s warm fingers.

“Ross,” he moaned but the other sounds bouncing of the tiled walls swallowed his voice. Ross’ large hand around his erection, pumping him underwater while his cock pushed into him with calm fervour… the banker moaned again but no word formed in his throat this time. His short breaths joined Ross’ dark sounds to weave a net in which they became entirely entangled. God, how smooth his hips and Ross’ hand worked together, creating a beautiful rhythm that brought George closer to the sweet release he was beginning to crave. All the drawn-out touches and the slow thrusting had left him more touch-starved than he had known and when Ross’ finger flicked idly over the tip of his cock the banker thrust harder into his hand. He bowed his head to watch Ross’ hand work his erection, the long fingers dancing skilfully over his skin. The pressure on his cock became more intense when Ross snapped his hips to the low growl in George’s ear.

Ross’ cock twitched gorgeously inside him as he came, every jerk sending a bout of pleasure through George. He moaned deeply and the banker felt the sound rather than he heard it – it reverberated through his body and when Ross pulled him closer to ride out his orgasm his hand on George’s cock picked up speed. The hot friction both inside him and on his cock made George gasp out as Ross’ weight leaned against his back. George could hardly tell where his own body ended and Ross’ began in this closeness, this multitude of sensations rushing through him. In his mind he pictured Ross’ chest pressing against him, his cock dragging over his prostate, his eyes screwed shut, his sensuous mouth slack in pleasure while his hips still pushed into him in need… and his long fingers jerking George’s cock. Every nerve ending in his body felt alive and when Ross delivered another shallow thrust the banker peaked with a coarse groan.

His orgasm ran through him in ripples as he spilled his load into the water; his hands were glued to the tub to keep him upright as waves and waves of pleasure washed through him, more than he had ever thought possible. What had started as a hot pressure in his groin moved on through his entire body and before one surge had run its course the next began in burning intensity. The muscles in George’s thighs trembled under the onslaught of this… _force_ as his hips moved entirely on their own accord. Sweat formed on his brow and ran down the side of his face as Ross still breathed heavily against his neck and stroked his cock. George’s hips jolted once more against both Ross’ hand and his groin and the brunet’s own movements slowed down. Despite the receding speed inside him another wave ran through George and for a moment he didn’t know whether he could take more of this sensation that spread throughout him and demanded all his energy. The strokes on his cock slowed down as well, Ross’ touch loosening up, and George leaned heavier on his hands. He bowed his back to rest his head on the small cushion while shivers crawled up his spine, stemming from the changing touches, followed up by Ross’ hot mouth on his skin. He kissed upwards over his shoulder blades and his neck but even if George wanted he couldn’t react to it; his barely receded orgasm had him firmly in its grip and with long breaths George enjoyed every last bit of it. The tingling sensations that didn’t quite seem to stop and the unwound drumming of his body after the intense contractions it had just experienced. His muscles quivered and though his hips moved slower now George couldn’t stop moving in small rolling motions. The insistent heat withdrew slowly but left a thorough warmth in his every last cell. And with it came a feeling of utterly comfortable tiredness.

Ross slid out of George to a low huff on the banker’s part. How strange it felt, the sudden lack of pressure in him but there was still Ross’ mouth that brushed over his neck one last time before he moved back, making the water move. George sighed quietly in content as relaxation caught up with him for good. _That was quite something else_. His head was still spinning from the particular mood that coined this entire situation. And the absence of their otherwise distinctive roles… George didn’t exactly know what had brought it about but somehow he was sure that this was a one-time occurrence, a development in the heat of the moment. A new experience for both of them that stood out precisely because of the single instance in which it had taken place.

George’s muscles were incredibly relaxed and if the water weren’t becoming a bit tepid he could just stay here. But now that Ross’ body heat wasn’t near him anymore George began to feel cold – the warmth in his muscles did nothing to keep the water’s temperature at bay. He braced himself on the tub’s edges to sit up again while in his back Ross left the water, making it move. George turned around slowly and let himself recline into the same position he had started in. His eyes followed Ross one more time, naked, wet, and wrapped in that special glow after a satisfying orgasm. And the fact that they had come on a par, so to speak, made George look at him in a different light. The strange intimacy they had had wasn’t yet broken even though Ross didn’t look at George directly but made for the fireplace. His feet left a wet trail on the floor in which the banker saw the flames reflected, their heat not reaching far enough to warm him.

Ross took the two towels from the rack in front of the fire and turned on his heels in a smooth move. Even now he looked intense as he walked back to the tub without wrapping one towel around his waist, the drops still painting streets of water on his body. When Ross stood next to the tub again he looked at George calmly and stretched out his right to hand him a towel. Traces of the former intensity still gleamed in Ross’ eyes but his overall expression was relaxed and George almost thought to detect a fine smile playing around the corners of his mouth. But he couldn’t be sure and still Ross didn’t speak. What was there to say though, really? For once George didn’t feel that a situation needed comment; whatever he said would only cheapen the moment they had just shared. And George intended to keep this memory like it was. With a slow nod of thanks George got up from the tub and accepted the towel while Ross began to dry himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to ask: will anyone of you be at Hobbitcon? ConsultingFili and I will be around and if anyone feels like meeting up just drop me a line :)


	15. George's Bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George receives a reply from Miss Porter. And a visit from Ross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this update took so incredibly long. I have a lot on at the moment and somewhere in the ruins my muse took a holiday. But we're back! At least for now and the next chapter will be posted much quicker, too - it's pretty much done and just needs a bit of an edit. So yes, if there's still someone reading I hope you enjoy it!

His servant had made the rounds with today’s correspondence and as soon as he had closed the door George gave up his pretend casualness and sat up behind his desk. There were a number of letters addressed to him, mostly on business, but he was looking for one message in particular. Miss Porter hadn’t yet answered his invitation to join him for tea and Wednesday was drawing close. Ah, here it was – an envelope of a creamy white on which the elegant curves of a woman’s handwriting stood out in black ink. Only the short drumming of his fingers showed his excitement before he reached for the sharp letter opener and cut through the envelope.

“Dear George,

I thank you for your kind invitation. I’ll gladly call tomorrow and indeed I am more than happy to discuss my suggestion from earlier this month. I look forward to seeing you.

Your friend, A. Porter.”

George smiled. Good. That was very good. He hadn’t doubted Miss Porter’s integrity to begin with but actually holding the reply in his hands was a relief. Just the other day his father had demanded his presence to conduct a very unpleasant conversation, subject of which was his continued bachelorhood. But if all went well such matters would soon be a thing of the past. _Suggestion_ was a fine denotation for what she had implied and George liked the hopeful vagueness of the term. Inherent in it was a possibility of beauty, another chance to bend the rules of society to his liking and advantage. Indeed the idea of marrying Miss Porter appealed and none of the reasons considered had lost any of their importance. George was a man to carefully consider an arrangement from every angle.

Yes, Miss Porter was the solution to most of his difficulties. And from what it appeared he could provide the same service for her.

The only complicated part would be to convey this information to Ross. Not that George had any sort of obligation to tell Ross what happened in his private life – god forbid they should ever become so intimate – but knowing his character George had a strong feeling that he wouldn’t appreciate it to find out from someone else than him. In George’s eyes the nature if their affair wouldn’t change very much. Secrecy was paramount in either case but taking into consideration the reservations Ross held about Miss Porter an open conversation would be the best way to go about it. If he could convince Ross to see the upside of his marriage of convenience and the security it provided for their affair it should all be well. _No need to worry about it now_. Not before the conversation with Miss Porter anyway and Ross was due to call any minute now. George folded the letter and put it away in the drawer of his desk just as the bell sounded.

 

* * * * * * * * * *

George closed the door carefully behind him and Ross. The corridor was empty and once more no one had seen the two men slip into the bedroom rather than the study – George’s staff was well-trained in respecting privacy and knowing when their presence wasn’t desired without dwelling on the reasons. He locked the door. The deep sound of the bolt reassured him that they were cut off from anything that resembled the real world.

In George’s back Ross had already begun to undress; his boots were kicked off and as George threw him a glance he was undoing the buttons on his shirt, the dark chest hair peeking out from the low neckline. A wolfish grin flickered over Ross’ face and George’s heart leapt in anticipation.

With effort he turned his gaze away from the appealing sight of Ross undressing and instead made quick work of his own garments. Off with the boots, coat neatly placed over a chair next to the full-length mirror when George felt Ross’ hands on him. A grab at his arm, not overly tight but demanding. He turned around and before he could take in the sight of Ross’ naked torso the brunet’s lips pressed on his mouth.

George gave a surprised huff and Ross tongue slid into his mouth, the salt on his lips the remains from the ride to the Warleggan’s mansion, the faint smell of hay and horse clinging to him. Ross carded through his hair with both hands and deepened the kiss. There was need in his demeanour but the little tug he gave George’s hair told him that Ross wasn’t driven or tense. No, a certain spark of playfulness came through, making George curious about what would happen. After the intensity of their tub encounter George hadn’t found it necessary to think up another something for their next meeting. They obviously weren’t in need of advanced planning anymore and whatever he would have come up with would feel forced in the face of the natural development of last time. No, this time George was comfortable in letting things unfold.

Ross’ right slid to the nape of his neck and over his clothed chest, pushing George away from the chair. The banker followed his lead immediately and then, a solid frame connected with his back. The mirror. Ross pushed him against the gilded frame and broke the kiss. His hands, however, remained on George. One on his shoulder, the other in the middle of his chest. For a moment Ross remained like that before he closed the distance between them and pressed his body against him. George’s lips parted to let a small huff escape. Ross’ face was so close to him that he could make out every green spot in his brown eyes, his left one adorned with the darker scar tissue reaching along the side of his face.

“I was wondering why your mirror is facing your bed…“ Ross murmured in his low bedroom voice, the voice that made it incredibly difficult for George to listen to the content of his words. It didn’t necessarily ring darker than usual but the almost velvety sound that kept the roughness at bay for the moment seemed to reverberate through George’s entire body. An alluring mixture of softness and strength, a tone that could change in the blink of an eye and become something else entirely. George felt his mouth go dry as the sound caressed him with promise of exciting incertitude. Ross’ lips brushed against his jaw as he spoke and the little kiss he breathed on George’s pulse made him breathe in sharply.

George didn’t answer – couldn’t answer, for the slow rubbing of Ross body against his clothed cock send sparks through him.

“Is there a special reason?” Ross asked innocently and swiped his thumb along George’s lower lip.

“The tailor…” George said with a rough timbre to his voice, “he came in the other day.”

Ross’ lips slowly curled up into a lopsided grin.

“Sure he did,” he stroked a finger along George’s throat casually, his eyes following it before his gaze burned directly into the banker. “Though you’d certainly find other uses for it, don’t you?”

George wetted his lips in a quick lick of his tongue as the meaning of Ross’ words took hold. _Other uses._ Seeing Ross take him, watching his hands grab his hips, making him come undone, spread out on the silken sheets and in plain view… Despite himself George felt a blush creep into his cheeks at the insinuation – and at the obvious heat the thought send through his groin.

George tried to assemble an answer when a well-calculated brush against his clothed cock rendered his efforts fruitless.

“Do you enjoy watching yourself, George?” Ross asked huskily and the banker saw his pupils widen further.

Such a simple question and yet George found himself lost for words. All that it sparked ran hotly through George in anticipation and excitement alike. Ross’ slow grinding made him hungrier for other touches and why not see the two of them fucking? He hadn’t yet considered this particular kind of accessory to bedroom events but he’d be damned if he wasn’t curious to try. Especially now that it was presented in these suggestive words, leaving room for any kind of interpretation. Ross had come a long way since he had first presented the silken kerchief.

George pressed lightly against Ross for more friction. “Would you believe me if I said I haven’t tried?” He ran his hand along Ross’ arm holding him in place but before he reached his shoulder the brunet pushed him back against the mirror’s frame again, pinning him.

Disbelief flickered over Ross’ face only to be replaced by a knowing smirk a moment later. “I’d take it for coyness.”

Before George could enjoy the feeling of smug superiority he gained at Ross’ words he was grabbed by the shoulders in a sudden move. Ross’ arm twisted around his waist while his other hand turned him around and when George regained his balance again Ross was behind him – and he was staring into his own eyes in the mirror.

For a second George’s eyes made contact with themselves before he flinched. Not so much from an aversion to his own reflection as from surprise. He’d rather look for evidence of Ross in the mirror – but not much was to be found. Even though Ross was a little taller than him George only saw the top of his unruly hair and parts of his naked shoulder in the mirror, his face barely visible behind George’s head.

“Don’t look for me,” Ross murmured into his left ear and George’s hair stood up where his hot breath hit his skin, “Look at yourself.”

That wasn’t what he had in mind when Ross suggested the mirror. It gave Ross nothing more than he would see without it and George would rather watch the brunet. Frowning lightly in displeasure George still adhered to Ross’ words and returned his attention to himself.

He wasn’t a vain man as such. He knew his own face well, yes, and he had spent some time looking into this particular mirror every morning. Yet it wasn’t for pleasure he took in his own appearance. His attention to clothing and styling was grounded in a desire to fit in and to present himself as the gentleman he was – his armour in public, the uniform of the gentry he was determined to honour.

Just then Ross’ hands appeared again. They climbed over his shoulder, the long fingers grabbing his waistcoat and in a smooth yet slow move the garment was pulled from his shoulder with a rustling sound. George’s eyes followed the hands moving down his arms and dragging the dark waistcoat over the crisp white of his shirt until it glided through his fingers. Ross threw the waistcoat on the chair beside them and before long his hands were on George again, this time opening the buttons of his shirt in calm certainty.

The line of buttons hung loosely down his torso and with a soft caress of his chest Ross’ hands returned to George’s shoulders. When his fingers brushed against his neck George shivered lightly. It was a strange situation, all of this. In principle he was able to see more than usual but still Ross was evasive to his gaze, only a shadow composed of a few fragmented features blocked by his own body. And still George felt his presence so close to him even though their skins hardly touched.

Ross’ fingers in his neck stroked along his shoulders as he slid the shirt down his back and George couldn’t help but follow Ross’ directions and stare at himself. From the open front of the shirt his torso emerged – pale skin and prominent collar bones stared back from the mirror and George followed the fluttering of the fabric, taking in the details of himself. He knew very well that his physique wasn’t as muscled or defined as Ross’ but for his purposes his appearance was the right one. His lean sides spoke of an energetic young man and in his well-built chest George’s effort in keeping fit showed: his body was part of the concept he had created for himself as were his clothing and his way of speaking. George felt neither shame nor pleasure in his nakedness; his body was there to implement what his mind had already decided it wanted.

Except now it was Ross who set the agenda. He pulled the shirt down George’s arms and it followed the waistcoat to the chair, leaving the banker dressed only in his breeches and staring at himself. But then there were Ross’ hands. They were on his sides, putting pressure on his hips and then George felt warm lips press a kiss on the nape of his neck. He couldn’t help but gasp quietly – the gesture was so gentle but still held a demanding quality, an insistence that George couldn’t wait to act on. Yet for now Ross had him trapped, forcing him to look at himself. His hands moved up from his hips, one hand stroking over his stomach whereas the other slid higher.

“Look at yourself, George.”

Ross’ smooth sliding hands over his skin directed George’s gaze. There was something intense in Ross’ movements, almost as if he wanted to commit every part of George to memory – he touched him slowly, leaving a warm sensation wherever his hands had been. George’s eyes followed every turn of those large hands in the mirror, the long fingers rubbing over his skin and smoothing over his rough edges. Ross’ right brushed over his nipple while George watched his left going for his waistband and in the split second before he moaned lightly George understood what was happening: Ross turned him and his body into an artwork. Every stroke was one of appreciation, desire even, and his hands the brushes that led his gaze. A brush over his nipple and the defined chest, a slow drag from his stomach to the waistband of his breeches and over the fabric, palming his cock and breathing raggedly into his neck, kissing upwards.

George’s mind worked hard to process what he was seeing, to understand the enjoyment Ross took from his body when he reacted without consent: his groin moved lightly into Ross’ hand and George bent his head back as the sharp flash of pleasure from Ross twisting his nipple ran through him.

“Put your hands on the frame.” Ross’ voice went right to George’s cock in its dark rumble.

He obeyed and took a shaky step forward, watching Ross’ hands leave his body in the movement. George was keenly aware of the sudden distance even though they hadn’t been close to begin with; yet this one step seemed to put miles between them. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder to confirm that Ross was still there but he saw him in the mirror now – still evasive but the dark smile decorating his features and when he looked up and met George’s eyes the banker’s heart sped up.

George shied away from Ross’ eyes immediately as if he was caught doing something forbidden. Only then did he remember that Ross’ command had been another one. He placed his hands on the frame of the heavy mirror. The gilded metal felt cool under his hands, a welcoming contrast to the heat that was building in George’s body. On instinct, he leaned closer to the glass. His lower back curved out almost automatically as an offering for Ross. In the glass he saw Ross’ reflection staring along the line of his back. Then, he took a step forward and George felt pressure against him. Ross’ hairy torso showed in the mirror as he leaned over George’s back only to brush his lips over his naked shoulder. George shivered lightly, trying to keep his hands on the frame. God, Ross was so sparing with touches that every little connection gained weightiness. The soft tickle of his lips was followed up by quick yet sharp grazing of his teeth and George drew in a sudden breath.

“Ross…” he half-moaned when his eyes stopped at the image in front of him: a narrow circle of blue surrounding a large black pupil looked back at him and his lips parted longingly as the syllables left his mouth. Ross’ hands pulled his hips back to his groin and George felt his hard cock through both their breeches.

“You’ll get to see how you look when I fuck you.”

“Yes…” George said slowly as the words surged through him. The ease with which Ross spoke such indecencies was nothing he’d ever tire of.

Ross’ hands stroked over his arse and opened his breeches – George followed every move in the mirror. “I wouldn’t want to keep that sight purely to myself.”

 _Liar_ , George thought so loudly Ross should be able to hear it but he kept talking. “You should see yourself, George. See what I can make you do.”

George gripped the mirror’s frame tighter. He knew all too well what Ross could make him do. But _seeing_ it, seeing them both – that’d be new and only the thought of it made George’s cock strain against his breeches further.

Ross grinned against his neck and whispered, “Would you like that?”

And how he’d like that. George breathed out slowly and looked into the reflection of Ross’ dark eyes. “Show me.”

Hot lips brushed against his neck in answer as Ross began tugging down his breeches. The mirror showed George that they already sat impossibly low on his hips, held up solely by his tilted hip and the casual hook of Ross’ fingers in the waistband. His cock pressed against the fabric and an absurd longing to see what lay beneath the fabric grew in George as if it wasn’t his body but someone else’s he was watching. The hipbones looked different from this angle, the flat stomach too, and they both guided George’s eyes to the waistband. The open buttons already showed a glimpse of hair and when Ross pulled farther George’s skin prickled from the fabric rubbing over his cock. his tongue wetted his lips as he saw the mirrored image but felt the original – something about this doubling was weirdly enticing but before George could understand it entirely Ross pulled down his breeches for good.

There he was, entirely naked and witnessing his reflection in a mirror while clinging to the frame still. George took himself in for the moment Ross’ hands weren’t on him but busy discarding his own breeches. His body, his means to an end, paraded for him to see. And to enjoy. George felt heat rise into his cheeks as he kicked his breeches to the side quickly without letting his eyes stray from his image.

Ross outlined his sides and down his stomach when he _finally_ wrapped his hand around George’s cock. The banker’s own hands clung to the mirror frame still as Ross began to stroke and George looked on, both the real and the reflection in his sight. Ross’ rough skin felt enticing against his cock and when he twisted his hand lightly on the upstroke and George gasped out in surprise. His breath steamed over the glass for a moment and turned the scene blurry, almost like fog in a theatre play, wrapping everything into a misty cloud that only underlined the exciting strangeness of what happened, of being touched like that without seeing Ross in full. He only saw the strong forearm adorned with dark hair and the working hand. The pressure on his erection was so good but Ross’ words still rang in his ears: this, as amazing as it felt, was only the foreplay and George was already stirring with desire.

As if Ross had read his mind he slowed down the strokes and in the mirror George could see his hips sway in protest. Ross grabbed him by his sides and pulled him down towards the carpet. For a moment, George drew his eye brows together in confusion. Surely Ross didn’t mean to…

“Here?” he asked huskily as his knees hit the carpet and Ross positioned himself behind him. Still the mirror showed him no further details but his eyes met Ross’. This time he didn’t flinch but looked at the brunet in a mixture of disbelief and arousal.

“Yes, here.” He didn’t offer further explanation and George didn’t dare ask – after all it was quite the statement to choose the carpet when there was a large bed in the room. What it meant, though, was only known to Ross.

Ross’ voice was sandpaper and silk. “I want you on all fours.”

George didn’t hesitate. Ross’ command had barely faded away when he leaned forward and pressed his hands onto the bristling fibre of the carpet. In his back Ross became visible, his bare chest moving in deep breaths while his eyes lingered on George’s back – a circumstance that ran hotly through the banker. With a fine grin on his lips George began to move, all but crawling forward towards his own reflection. If it weren’t for Ross’ attention he would have found it strange. But the gaze he could see resting on him made his pulse speed up, almost as if it touched his skin. _Voyeurism of a special kind_. And George would make the most of it for both of them.

He took a crawling move forward, slower this time, deliberate. Ross’ eyes were still fastened on his shoulders and when George put his hand down again he slowly stretched his back. He could feel the muscles in his shoulders shift and let the movement run into the low curve of his back he couldn’t see in the mirror, presenting his bare arse in full view for Ross and himself. God, the intensity with which Ross’ eyes followed the course of it was enticing – the clear desire in his expression ran through George in warm ripples that made him hungry for more. His other hand lifted to repeat the motion but then Ross’ large hands grabbed his middle and he leaned over him in sudden pressure. A gush of hot air hit his back and George let out a quiet gasp as Ross brought his face down and kissed his spine on the lowest point of its hollow. Ross’ stubble lightly scratched over his skin and sent a shiver through George that crawled up his spine and into his neck, a shiver that the warmth from the brunet’s hands couldn’t stop. His next move forward was underlined by a string of kisses down his back, the next lower than the last. Ross’ hands moved over George’s pointed hipbones as he came to a halt at an angle to the mirror, turned lightly to the left; that way he had a view of himself as well as Ross behind him. Watching them both from another perspective, mirrored – George began to understand the appeal as he not only felt but actually _saw_ the shock of dark curls stroking over his back while Ross’ hands moved further down.

Ross didn’t look into the mirror but his hands ran over George’s arse, softly first as if they mapped out his body, then harder, squeezing and kneading his skin. George moaned out and stretched his back into the touch; his hole twitched in anticipation of what was to happen, of what he _hoped_ would happen as Ross kissed the small of his back. His lips were hot on George’s skin, his fingers stroking along the curve of his arse and down to his thighs.

George’s cock was rock hard and even though Ross’ erection was partly obstructed from his view the banker could tell that he was equally aroused. The tingle from the kisses moved even lower, into his tense thighs and for a short moment George looked at himself in the mirror. His position was utterly sinful, his curved body presented to Ross so shamelessly, only to be eagerly accepted by the brunet in almost painfully slow caresses. George saw in his own eyes the need for _more_. His hips began to roll but Ross grabbed him tighter as he sat back on his legs, pulling him closer. Then, without further preliminaries, he leaned forward and pressed his lips on George’s hole.

A sound that was embarrassingly close to a whelp shot out of George’s throat but he neither noticed nor cared. The hot breath on his skin, the lips grazing his hole – involuntarily George squirmed in Ross’ grip as the intensity of the sensation rushed through him. His heart beat heavily against his ribcage and he half expected to see it in the mirror but when he looked into the glass he only saw his torso covered in a thin layer of sweat. Ross’ head bobbed lightly and immediately George felt the consequence. A long lick over his hole, wet and deliberate in its slowness and another wave of arousal washed through George’s groin and directly into his cock, hard and untouched between his legs.

“Ross,” he gasped but interrupted himself with a deep moan. God, the way Ross’ tongue was toying with his entrance was almost too much. It left a wet trail over it and the gush of Ross’ breath made George’s arms and thighs tremble. His breath sounded ragged in his own ears and the mirror showed him his dishevelled reflection: his hair stuck to his forehead, little drops of sweat were forming on his upper lip and his lips looked dry and raw. But what stirred George most about his image was the look of utter need in his own eyes. A need Ross had brought into existence and a need only he could cater to. looking up at himself through his lashes George saw his body react before his vocal cords could – a shiver ran through his hips and his mouth went slacker as Ross outlined his hole only to dip his tongue into it. Low in his stomach pressure built, his eyelids fluttered and distorted the image in front of him, and then George’s arms carved in.

Ross’ grip wound around his hips as he worked George’s hole further, licking and sucking in a rhythm that drew ragged gasps from George. His fingers dug into his arms and with effort George looked up to see his changed reflection, see his arse presented at a steeper angle and effortlessly locked by Ross’ muscular arms. The brunet’s curls swung with every move and the fraction of his torso George could see through his fluttering eyelids was heaving.

“God, Ross… please,” George mumbled into his arms, hardly able to articulate himself anymore. He felt as though his body wasn’t his anymore, taken over completely by Ross and his skilful tongue. How intense it felt, how utterly enticing to be at Ross’ mercy. Low in his stomach pressure built and George’s hips moved against Ross’ grip on their own accord. Just then the licks came slower, drawing a needy moan from George’s dry lips. The tip of Ross’ tongue barely breached him any more as the brunet brought him back from the edge. If Ross had abruptly stopped George was sure he would have come on the spot, overly sensitive and his muscles compensating the missing pressure. But now that Ross gradually reduced the pressure George couldn’t help but whimper – he was kept from coming from either side of the scale. The last lick was but a soft grazing and Ross stopped, easing up the grip on George’s hips and sitting himself up. George’s arms were still pressed against the carpet as he dug his fingers into the slightly abrasive fabric; he felt his hole twitch, painfully aware of the lack of attention but in the next instant Ross’s image caught his eye, appearing behind his own in the mirror and for the first time showing him more than only fragmented impressions.

Ross looked all but wild. His lips were red as sin, swollen and slick and his dark eyes bore into George’s. The banker’s throat felt raw as he tried to gasp out Ross’ name again, a plea for touch, desperation and need and the promise of pleasure. A dark smile played around Ross’ mouth as he moved, quickly, cat-like, lining up with George. His hands found George’s sides and the next thing the banker felt was Ross’ cock pushing into him. George moaned, this time with a sound coming from low inside his throat. _Yes…_ Ross stretched him so wonderful and the first deep thrust made his eyes flutter shut for a moment. In his back he heard Ross give a grunt as his hips adapted a quick pace and George looked up and into the mirror again. His own back was still bent at the steep angle, his chest partly resting on the carpet while Ross grabbed his presented arse tightly. The brunet’s arms flexed as he held George in a firm grip; his hairy chest and face were covered in a thin layer of sweat that gleamed in the harsh midday light. George groaned when Ross pulled him back on his cock at the next thrust, gliding deeper into him and making his thighs tremble. God, the relentless snaps of Ross’ hips hit him in all the right places and what turned him on beyond that was the image in the mirror: Ross’ body reverberating from the thrusts, sharp movements showing in his lean body. Every last ripple of his stomach clearly visible to George and Ross’ right grabbed his arse cheek and squeezed while his hips adapted a faster pace.

Ross’ cock rubbed hard along George’s passage and the banker watched them in the mirror, watching and feeling his orgasm begin to build. The men in the mirror looked beyond sinful and unrestrained as they ground against each other in hard thrusts, both with wild eyes and coloured cheeks. George pushed himself up on his arms again as he thrust back onto Ross’ cock; from his angle he saw the side of Ross’ arse, firm and moving, and on instinct his right reached out to grab it. Balancing on one arm George watched his posture shift before he felt the rub ob Ross’ cock along his prostate. _Ross_ … shivers crawled up his spine as he determined the pace for a moment, timing his own thrust with Ross’ and intensifying the momentum with his hand on the toned arse. Ross gave a short huff of surprise as his eyes met George’s in the mirror and for a moment the banker felt within and without, a mirror image of himself. Ross’ right ran along his spine and grabbed a fistful of George’s hair, leaning over him without slowing down his thrusts. A small tug was enough to make George turn his head towards Ross. Ross’ mouth was rough, more bite than kiss when he hit George’s parted lips and in that moment mirror image and reality aligned again. The banker moaned into Ross’ mouth, sucking on his lower lip and dancing along his tongue. One moment George greedily kissed Ross when the next, he was pulled upright again: Ross’ arm wound around his chest and hauled him back so that George only rested on his knees. The banker gasped in surprise at the sudden change of position, leaning heavily against Ross’ broad chest for balance while the brunet continued to pound into him with low grunts. The mirror showed George his own parted lips, breathy moans coming from them almost constantly now, his hair in disarray and his skin sweaty, his cock flush and hard, bobbing in tune with Ross’ thrusts. Ross, however, only existed in fragments, again, like in the beginning, all hands and black curls but it felt so different now. The sensation of Ross’ cock inside him and rubbing along his sweet spot was incredibly intense. George grabbed Ross’ neck with his right, his back arching further as he threw back his head. Shutting out their doubles in the glass George shivered when Ross’ hand grabbed his hair, tightly.

“Take a good look at yourself, George,” Ross rumbled in his ear and mind, his presence all-encompassing whether George saw him or not. Without a thought George complied and looked into the mirror again, looked at the very picture of debauchery that was presented, framed, and out for anyone to see.

“Look how far gone you are,” Ross murmured and the words only made George needier because yes, god, he was getting close, tense and quivering muscles and barely feeling like himself anymore. Ross sounded so shameless himself, all heaving chest and gushes of hot breath as he quickened the pace once more. “Touch yourself for me.”

The sudden command surged through George and in an instant his hand was on his cock. he couldn’t tell from whose lips the dark moan came but it didn’t matter – what mattered was the velvety feeling of his cock under his fingers and the much-needed pressure he was treating himself to. In his ear he heard Ross murmur approving things he couldn’t make out as he looked into the mirror, watching himself being fucked by Ross and touching himself in tune. God, this was the very definition of depravity: George moaned deeply and took in the picture that presented itself, messy and exciting. Ross’ cock twitched inside him and the brunet dug his fingers into George’s sides as he groaned into his sweaty neck and George’s hand worked faster. Inside him Ross dragged over his sweet spot again and the brunet climaxed, spilling into him hotly when the next twist of George’s hand aligned and he followed, seconds after Ross. The first quiver was so intense he couldn’t tell whether it was pleasure or just more tension when his orgasm hit with blinding force, turning all suspense into an overwhelming wave of release. Shivers ran along his sticky skin and George’s eyes were glued to the mirror: he saw himself come in white spurts, over his hand and slicking his cock with it at the next stroke. Ross’ arm wound tightly across George’s chest, the olive skin a stark contrast to the banker’s pale but flush skin as he held him upright and in position – for which George was thankful. His pulse pounded heavily against his chest and his body shook against Ross’ grip, his muscles contracting and pleasure running through his every cell. Incoherent moans came from both of them when George’s hand continued to move along his erection, drawing out the intense feeling of Ross’ cock moving inside him still as he rode out his orgasm in his slick passage. Every gush of breath on George’s sweaty neck sent a new wave of pleasure through him, made him twist his hand a little differently. Ross’ eyes were glued on the reflection of George’s cock as the mirror showed him, and the banker slowed down, acutely aware of Ross’ attention, and slowly spread his cum that hadn’t landed on the carpet. Ross’ thrusts came slower now but still as deep as before; George’s eyes fluttered shut when another belated ripple of pleasure surged through him. The hand not on his cock had dug into Ross’ strong forearm and only now did George ease his grip. Ross let go of him with a sigh and George let himself sink down on his arms again as the brunet slipped out of him.

Behind him, he heard Ross shuffle and the mirror showed him how he moved back to lean against the side of George’s bed. His chest was still heaving in heavy breaths as he stretched his legs out and slid a little lower. The banker sat up, turned away from the mirror image and towards Ross who had tilted his head back. Even though it was not possible he seemed different to George: his cheeks redder, his hair more in disarray and his muscles gleaming with sweat. The stretched throat showed pronounced sinews and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. So much more real than the illusion in the mirror, George thought without understanding his own musings and crawled over to Ross, closing the distance with two short moves. Ross moved his head and looked at him, eyes glazed over still, and on instinct, George craned his neck and pressed his lips on Ross’. A slow kiss, languid and relaxed, and with a gentle nip to his lower lip George pulled back, letting himself fall next to Ross.

 


	16. The Warleggan's Yard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright lovelies, you're in for some drama!

Ross fastened his saddlebags to his horse’s back in practised motions. His hands worked almost on their own, grabbing the leather straps and securing his belongings. Motion memory that spoke of normality and gave him a moment in his own head to dwell on what had just happened. This memorable encounter that left his muscles feeling comfortably heavy. Lately his meetings with George had taken a more refined turn – sure, they had come a long way from their first rough encounter and the inclusion of props in the bedroom had been a step into that direction as well. But ever since the bathroom situation, ever since they had shared this particularly intense encounter… Ross wasn’t one to give into philosophic ramblings but he felt that he and George had reached a kind of intimacy that stood on its own, more than physical but still independent from emotions. When he saw the mirror in George’s room he could only assume that the banker agreed. He was fairly sure that George planted the mirror on purpose. One quality he couldn’t deny George was his thirst for new experiences. In all honesty Ross would never have considered taking anyone in front of a mirror but now that the possibility had arisen he couldn’t suppress a fine smile _. Memorable indeed_. Yet what came as a greater surprise was the kiss afterwards. It held a languid quality as if George wanted to extend the experience, draw out the afterglow – _with_ him rather than next to him. Ross drew his brows together. He didn’t exactly know what to make of this sudden intimate gesture and somehow he doubted that George had a clearer idea of why it had happened. Maybe it was a reprise of the encounter in the bath. Maybe it was nothing. Ross mounted his horse and made for the gates of the Warleggan property. Once they lay behind him he would have to return to his work, making use of the last few warm days of summer.

Yet before he had the chance to change his path another rider came through the gates and gave Ross a jolt. This was unusual. Normally he and George timed their encounters so that he could arrive and leave unseen, avoiding to give rise to suspicion. No such luck this time – the rider was headed for the yard and now that he came closer Ross realised that it was a woman. Elizabeth’s image flickered before his eyes and seemed to attach itself to the rider for a split second, to the elegantly cut riding dress and ease on a horse’s back. No, Ross realised when he looked closer and the distance between the two waned further, not Elizabeth – Miss Porter. He cursed under his breath. This was most unfortunate. A witness to his whereabouts and an impending social situation he could well do without.

When they met in the middle of the yard Ross stopped his horse and politely nodded.

“Miss Porter.”

“Mr Poldark, what a delightful surprise to meet you here,” she said and grabbed the reigns tighter.

“And you,” Ross replied, though he would definitely cross out the adjective. Meeting her here was strange, to say the least. He hadn’t considered that anyone would chance upon him on the way out and this obvious change of plan made him somewhat jumpy. Whatever he offered as explanation had to match up with George’s potential story and Ross was certain that they wouldn’t pick the same kind of narrative. Before Miss Porter could get the next word in he asked, “Did you enjoy the ball at Sir Hugh’s?”

Not a great diversion, granted, but there was nothing else Ross could build on. They hadn’t met otherwise and through his forced smile Ross hoped for Miss Porter’s London-upper-class demeanour to save him from direct inquiry.

“Very much so,” Miss Porter nodded, “It has been a delight to meet so many interesting people. Though it’s a pity that we didn’t have time to spend together.”

 _Yes, of course_. Ross barely stopped himself from scoffing. His first encounter with her hadn’t exactly been great and so far he had thought it was a mutual impression.

But if she wanted to play that game he was determined to go along. As long as she didn’t show further interest in his presence in front of the Warleggan’s mansion Ross was happy to comply in senseless smalltalk.

“I apologise. Once the card table has hooked its claws into me I tend to forget about other means of socialising.”

Miss Porter laughed quietly. No wonder she was a well-liked guest already – despite his reservations about her Ross could see the appeal she held beyond her father’s money. A charming laugh, devoid of pretend coyness.

“I did not mean it as a reproach,” she said amiably, “I’m sure we will have several opportunities to get to know each other better.”

“Certainly.”

Ross’ answer was short. He highly doubted that Miss Porter had a genuine wish to get to know him – even if that should be the case he wasn’t exactly keen on seeing her more than necessary.

Though her chattiness might be a good opportunity for him to find out what she was actually doing here. So far Ross had only been concerned with his own cover but come to think of it they both were out of place here. Had George invited her so shortly after Ross’ visit? A hint of annoyance grew in his stomach as he considered the possibility. And why invite her in the first place? Before the ball George had clearly stated his aversion to a marriage even though rumours had told it differently. But no father was here to accompany Miss Porter and advise her in matters of marriage, and to call at such an unlikely time… something was off about this.

Ross tried for an interested yet neutral expression. “I take it you intend to stay longer?”

“I am giving serious thought to it,” she answered. “Of course there are many things to be considered beforehand but once the last arrangements are taken care of I can see myself living in Cornwall.”

 _Arrangement_. The denotation was the same he had used to describe his affair with George in the beginning.

“It is such a delightful part of the country,” Miss Porter added and Ross drew his brows together.

“Rough, for all its beauty.”

“I like to think that this is a large part of the appeal.”

Another charming smile. In vain Ross tried to look past it, to find out whether she was hiding something in those superficial words. All evidence spoke against marriage discussions and yet the word _arrangement_ rang in his ears.

“Well, Cornish society would benefit from it,” Ross answered automatically while his mind reeled with thoughts of affairs and trysts. He didn’t care which other involvements George held but running into the next person to warm his bed was not part of their deal. The same kind of angry irritation he had felt at the ball came back, intensifying with every word from that woman’s lips.

“You’re too kind. Pray tell, is Mr Warleggan at home?” Miss Porter asked and anger sparked in Ross. Whether against her or George he couldn’t tell yet he was sure that both of them deserved his disdain.

“Yes, he is,” Ross said and noticed the unintended smugness in his voice too late. _Keep it together_. Just because his mind was well on its way of playing tricks on him didn’t mean that reality followed the script in his head. Besides, his demeanour was not only surprisingly rude but most of all suspicious. Miss Porter wasn’t stupid and his tone was a clear deviation from the rest of their conversation.

In an attempt to soften his words and explain his unusual presence Ross added, “We know each other from school days.”

“How wonderful it must have been to have a confidant,” she answered sympathetically and Ross breathed out quietly. “And to keep that connection into adulthood. Calling whenever one gives a thought to it is nothing that is approved of in London.”

“Indeed.” _Spoiled city brat_. “You seem to adapt to our rough customs well.”

Miss Porter disregarded the snide remark with another laugh. “Rough but honest. I try to. George is very helpful and kind to me.”

Ross’ smile didn’t reach his eyes. Evidently Miss Porter and George were on first name basis already; he knew that they had entertained each other well at Sir Hugh’s but this move seemed to be a rash one on George’s part. “I’m sure he is.”

“Ah, just as we mention him,” Miss Porter nodded to something in Ross’ back and he turned to look around.

Indeed, there George was, hurrying across the yard and towards them. Just like Ross he looked properly dressed – no evidence was there of their meeting not a half hour ago. No evidence beside their presence and the panic expression on George’s face.

“Miss Porter, Ross…” he said, slightly out of breath as he arrived, a vein in his temple throbbing visibly.

“Hello George,” Miss Porter said gently, “I’m sorry to barge in here without announcement but my way took me past your home and I thought to call today instead of tomorrow.”

This scene was becoming stranger by the minute. George’s demeanour was nervous, almost jittery as he grazed Ross with his gaze shortly. Something was happening behind Ross’ back, somehow Miss Porter and George were involved, and Ross had only his suspicions. And even they weren’t of a coherent nature.

“What a surprise,” George said in an echo of Ross’ earlier words. His tone betrayed that the nature of this surprise was not a happy one, though. No, something was off. This nervousness bouncing off George almost visibly was a strange contrast to his usual calm self, his hands gesturing rather than staying put behind his back. “May I offer you refreshment? It must have been a long ride.”

Ross drew his brows together. There was his segue, the one opportunity to gain more insight into the situation. “Yes, where _did_ you come from, Miss Porter?” he asked and kept his tone as friendly as necessary.

Miss Porter turned to him. Her eyes told him that she was acutely aware of the edge he had delivered but her mouth continued to smile and gloss over the moment.

“I paid a visit to Miss Penvenen,” she said and just before the next sentence her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “She was full of praise for your good friend Doctor Enys.”

Ross pressed his lips together. What a cunning woman. She clearly knew more about Dwight’s whereabouts than Ross. In fact, the two men hadn’t spent much time together lately. The circumstance that Miss Porter knew about a potential involvement of Dwight’s didn’t sit right with Ross – first she played George so well at the ball and now she was trying her luck with him.

Ross gave his utmost to look disinterested while George’s eyes shifted nervously between them.

“Please do come in,” he offered with a gesture towards the mansion. “The stable hand will take care of your horse and…”

“Oh no, thank you, George,” Miss Porter interrupted him lightly and waved the invitation off without offence, “I won’t bother you any longer now I see that you have company. I apologise for my intrusion.”

It lay on the tip of Ross’ tongue to say that he was leaving anyway but he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words. He didn’t want them to meet right away, discuss whichever matter they wanted to discuss while George’s room still smelled like sex. They would talk about him, about this strange meeting and it would become another item on the growing list of things Ross knew nothing about.

“I shall leave you gentlemen to your business and call tomorrow after all,” Miss Porter said and saved Ross the decision, “Then we can discuss the suggestion in detail. Good day, George. Mr Poldark.”

 _Suggestion_? Trying hard not to let his anger show Ross returned her nod and without a further word Miss Porter turned her horse and rode down the lane.

George still stood in front of Ross’ horse, his left rubbing his right nervously. Whatever they were keeping from Ross it seemed to be something elementary and as far as he could tell Miss Porter held all strings in her hand.

But not for much longer.

Ross got off his horse and stepped towards George.

 

* * * * * * * * *

George loosened his neck cloth with a rash move of his hand. Underneath he was sweaty but at least his pulse had calmed down considerably now that Miss Porter had left his property. God, what a mess – it was by chance that he had seen Miss Porter ride onto the yard. It had taken him a moment to recognise her. Returning to his room via the stairwell with the windows facing the main gate George wasn’t looking for anything in particular and she had announced herself a day later. A moment of shock as Ross’ silhouette crossed the distance and both riders stopped. In an instant George knew that this wouldn’t move smoothly. Not with Ross’ reservations towards her, not with Miss Porter’s intellect that had surely assessed the situation accordingly. She knew already, George tried to reassure himself as he hasted across the yard, she knew and understood and surely wouldn’t mention anything to Ross.

Which apparently she hadn’t.

Only when Ross stopped closely in front of George the banker understood that this didn’t constitute a lucky circumstance at all. Ross’ brows were drawn and his eyes narrowed as he stared at George, his body broad and imposing in front of him.

What a mess indeed.

George just opened his mouth to get the first word in when Ross beat him to it.

“Which suggestion?” he asked in a voice that sounded strained, husky in an attempt to keep it in check.

George straightened his coat and looked him square in the eyes. Granted, this situation was far from ideal but he wouldn’t let Ross act like the prototypical alpha male. He kept his tone cool when he answered, “None that concerns you.”

Ross’ jaw clenched. “I beg to differ.”

“I don’t see why you need to know anything private about me.” Theirs had never been an emotional attachment and neither an explicitly exclusive one. _We don’t owe each other anything._

A short pause before Ross answered. “Because, George, I very much dislike the thought that I am crossing ways with the next person to warm your bed.”

George’s mouth went rigid. Of all the issues Ross could have with Miss Porter’s sudden appearance he chose the lowest accusation of all.

“We’re not involved in that way, Ross. And I don’t appreciate the insinuation.”

“You as a _gentleman_ should know how to handle these things and yet you subject me to this situation.”

The particularly stressed word which Ross spoke with viciously gleaming eyes cut through George with more force than he had anticipated. The second low strike in a matter of moments and even more than George despised Ross for it he hated the effect it had on him. And it hadn’t been the first time either – Sir Hugh’s event came to mind, the irrational jealousy Ross had been fostering against Miss Porter ever since and questioning his status with similar wording.

“It was not my intention. Like she said, she came by on a whim,” George pointed out coldly. “If you feel the need to discuss it we should return to the house.”

Ross barely recognised his words and in his eyes George saw anger spark. “I’ll ask again: which suggestion?”

“Whether you agree or not,” George in a steady voice, unimpressed by Ross’ threatening behaviour, “my private affiliations are none of your business.”

“If it leads to such unpleasant moments, it is,” Ross hissed and in the jerking of his chin George saw the aggression that ruled over him.

But rather than impressing him Ross only made George more certain of his conviction. This situation was nowhere near as dramatic as Ross made it out to be. Tomorrow, George would talk to Miss Porter and once their stance on things was clear George could take the necessary steps for the arrangement to take proper form. Including a discussion with Ross.

“There is no harm done, Ross,” George said calmly but rather than soothing Ross’ anger the banker witnessed another change in his face: his eyes looked at him in disbelief and the crease between them grew steeper.

“She could have seen us, George,” Ross hissed in an endeavour to keep his voice down. “It’s quite an unlikely time for one gentleman to visit another, isn’t it? Especially in light of our history. A few moments earlier and we wouldn’t be standing out here.”

George shook his head. “She wouldn’t have come in unannounced.” Besides, she knew anyway – a detail that Ross hadn’t given him the time to explain yet.

“Listen, Ross,” George started anew when Ross interrupted him again.

“And what would you have me do? Hide under the bed, in your closet?” An aggressive step towards the banker and an expression that showed George just how undignified and wrong Ross thought either of these possibilities to be. “She isn’t stupid. Maybe she has already made the connection and spreads rumours all over town.”

Before he could stop himself George scoffed lightly. “She wouldn’t do that.”

Here Ross was, being all high and mighty about secrecy and society’s opinion when not two weeks ago he had fucked him in Sir Hugh’s smoking room? If ever there had been a danger to be taken seriously throughout their affair it certainly wasn’t Miss Porter and her preference for her own sex.

“I must say, George,” Ross’ voice gained a sharper edge and he tilted his head in a way that might seem inquiring if it weren’t for the cruel streak around his mouth, “the certainty with which you assess Miss Porter’s character is astounding. You truly seem to think you know her in the shortage of time. Or are you just covering her out of a feeling of responsibility? Have you given in and promised to marry her after all?”

George drew in a sharp breath. With one question Ross had gotten to the bottom of the issue and with every passing second George gave his words more weight. What to answer? He couldn’t lie to him, not with the truth so thinly veiled in front of him, not with the announcement of their engagement almost on the tip of his tongue… for if he denied it now Ross’ anger would be immeasurable when the cards were sent out.

Wetting his lips George said, “… nothing is official.”

Ross’ expression didn’t change. Only the streak around his mouth became tenser. “So your father still pulls your strings. An old family name, what could be more attractive.”

This was absurd. First Ross aimed to discredit him with talk of indecency and now he took away George’s independence – the banker felt anger stir in his stomach that crawled up to his throat, colouring his words in ragged edges.

“Ross, I won’t be spoken to like that. It is hardly your concern for which reasons I marry. And who.”

“You’re right,” Ross nodded, “It isn’t. And I couldn’t care less if there weren’t the small matter of our involvement.”

George stared at him. “These things are separate.”

A sharp breath. “No they are not. Have you taken leave of your senses that you do not see the consequences?”

“There _are_ none,” George dismissed his concerns with a wave of his hand. Why did Ross feel the need to go on about it? If he gave him the possibility to explain rather than to constantly attack him George would make him see. It was all planned out and thought through, a plan that would consider the best outcome for all three of them. “As I said, Miss Porter is fine with it. You and I, we could continue.”

The last syllable slipped off his tongue and in that moment he saw Ross’ face fall in disbelief. _Oh no_. The words were out before George had thought it through. Something was wrong with his sentence, evidently, something that bit through Ross and made his jaw clench. But what? This was the heart of the conversation, the sticky point that should be greeted with approval from Ross.

“Continue?” Ross spat out, a sound just short of a shout. He stepped closer to George once more as he hissed, “I am not to be treated as your mistress.”

George licked his lips as his mind caught up on what Ross was already rejecting vehemently. _Mistress_. An absurd notion and not for a moment George had thought of Ross in this term – was he so misguided to think George would desire to change their dynamics?

“I did not suggest any such thing,” George said as calmly as he could, reverting into his banker tone and avoiding to use the denotation Ross had brought up. “If you perceive it in this way I cannot be held accountable.”

Despite his business tone George felt the conversation slipping from him, control running through his fingers like loose sand he tried to retain.

“Look, Ross, I think we misunderstand each other,” George said slowly in an effort to appease Ross’ loaded words. “If you gave me the chance to explain…

“And how do you explain that you think she will be fine with it? Once she discovers your other preference?” Ross interrupted him briskly.

George cleared his throat. “Nothing remains for her to discover… she knows.”

Ross scoffed and shot a narrow-eyed look at him, telling George just how much restraint it cost him to suppress his anger. “Now Miss Porter holds your strings as well.”

The banker shook his head decidedly at the accusation. “Ross, you misunderstand.”

“How?” he asked firmly.

“I didn’t tell her. She found out by herself,” George answered a little too quickly, a little too eager to shift the blame even in his own ears.

Ross didn’t move. “And you confirmed. Did you mention my name?”

“She didn’t leave me much choice…” George reasoned, fighting the annoyance building in his stomach in favour of saving the situation.

But all further words died in his throat as Ross looked at him with barely contained anger and disgust. The vague sentence haunted the space between them and with every passing second suspension built in George’s body – in that moment he understood that for once he couldn’t anticipate the outcome of this meeting. Nothing in Ross’ motionless posture betrayed his next step, no twitching of his eye giving him the slightest hint. For the first time George was utterly powerless in the face of Ross’ anger.

Ross smoothed his waistcoat with his hands, broke eye contact and the next thing George made out was his own quick step back when the brunet swung his fist at him. Shock was plainly visible on his features and from between his parted lips his breath escaped in a surprised huff. Quick heartbeats against his chest, heavy thuds, the rush of his own blood drowning out any other sound; time seemed to slow down and George was damned to be a witness to a situation he was immersed in. He felt the crunch of gravel under his booted heels, saw the aggressive snarl that turned Ross’ face into a grimace, the angry specks in his eyes as his own body trying to move out of harm’s way, the gush of air along his cheek, closely followed by a grazing by Ross’ fist. Not the full blow but still hard enough to feel the impact of Ross’ knuckles on his cheekbone.

His breath came short and before George could take another step back to escape Ross’ reach the brunet was in front of him. His hands grabbed George’s lapel tightly only to shove him hard in the next instant. The pressure on his chest made George lose his balance shortly as he stumbled back, his arms moving almost comically to regain equilibrium. No thought of retaliation, no impulse to fight back on George’s part – the alarm of the sudden physical outburst and the insistent throbbing in his cheek had him firmly in its grasp. A strange flicker in Ross’ heated look that transcended aggression but before George had the change to take in any further detail the brunet turned on his heels. Back in the saddle in an instant Ross spurred his horse, leaving George behind.


	17. George's Study // Nampara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George is trying to understand what happened and Ross is fuming with anger. Like he does.

George breathed in shakily as he watched Ross ride off the Warleggan’s property at full gallop, receding in the distance while he still stood here. Stupefied. Motionless. His cheek burned unpleasantly and his chest still resonated with the impact of Ross’ shove but most of all he felt his mind in uproar, trying to understand what had just happened, how it had come to this, trying to _do_ something to save the situation, trying and failing for Ross had left nothing but a trail in the gravel.

_Calm down_ , George implored himself, _take care of the most important things first_. Somewhat unsteady on his feet he turned around. At least the yard was empty, devoid of possible spectators. His heart was still beating heavily against his ribcage as he began to walk towards the house. _Get back inside, calm down, think it through_. A glass of sherry would also help, probably, and his butler would need to find him some sort of ointment for his cheek. And then, maybe then he’d be able to control his pulse and shake the acute feeling of loss and defeat that made itself at home in his stomach.

 

Some moments later George sat in his study, behind his desk in his usual spot. The small mirror in front of him showed him the extent of the wound: the skin was strikingly pink in his pale and even face but his instincts had saved him from further harm. Ross’ hit had had considerable strength behind it; that much was clear even from the sharp graze. So physical assault it was at last. George had never thought that it would actually come to this – after all both he and Ross were men capable of maintaining civility. Granted, this conversation had gone as badly as possible but now that George had caught up with the situation he felt annoyed that Ross had breached the convention. And that he likely had to find an excuse for the state of his cheek.

He dipped his index finger into the balm his butler had produced and looked into the mirror, carefully applying the ointment. Tender to the touch he saw himself flinch at first contact but soon the spot was glinting. When he was finished George put the mirror back into the drawer – he had enough of his own reflection for the day, one way or another.

_Damn Ross’ quick temper_. Miss Porter’s sudden appearance had negated their prior meeting, the scorching intensity and the languid kiss George had – foolishly, perhaps – initiated on instinct. All revelling in delicious secrecy stripped away. She was not to blame, though, not in George’s mind anyway. It had only been a case of unfortunate coincidence. So again: damn Ross’ quick temper. Along with his stubbornness which rejected George’s plan before having heard all of it. He didn’t even have the opportunity to properly explain Miss Porter’s affiliations which were, at least as far as he was concerned, the stroke of genius a plan for the future deserved. Maybe with that piece of information Ross would have understood.

Yet it was all futile now. George was no man to dwell on a lost argument except for the sake of learning from it. Ross had been irritated, angry and George should have anticipated such a reaction. It might have been residual feelings in tune with the ones Ross had fostered at Sir Hugh’s but the main fact that had turned Ross’ mood had been the feeling of lost control, George saw now. The meeting Miss Porter had alluded to along with his own evasive manner were enough to give him the idea that George had been scheming behind his back.

Except that Ross had quickly regained dominance. Yes, Ross had indeed picked out just enough information to arrive at the (decidedly false) conclusion that Miss Porter was blackmailing George into a marriage.

He sighed and his gaze quickly jumped to the elegant handwriting of Miss Porter’s reply on his desk. Not that Ross would do anything with the shreds of knowledge he had gained – he was far too involved and even though George had evidently attracted his anger the banker was sure that no thoughts of revenge ruled Ross’ mind. He was likely still enraged about the argument, about his own interpretation of being a mistress to George.

From all of the misunderstandings during their argument George was most disquieted by this one. For if Ross didn’t care to continue their affair George was effectively trapped in a marriage that didn’t address any of his desires.

He couldn’t help but feel responsibility to act on his word to Miss Porter even though nothing was fixed yet. With faint embarrassment and annoyance at himself George noticed how he had never considered that it would be Ross who posed a problem. Not in that way, anyway; their meetings had become a routine but the things they did… a far cry from usual or established. Despite himself George felt a soft stirring in his groin as he recalled the moments in his bedroom, twisted and exciting and most of all _new_. All of his work, all his initial seduction had turned Ross exactly into the lover George not only wanted but needed. Where else should he find someone as passionate and twisted as him? Brothels were always an option but the exciting thing with Ross had been the mutual understanding they had. A strange kind of intimacy, not only physical, come to think of it – they complemented each other perfectly in bed and brought out what likely no one else could, every desire shamelessly out in the open and acted upon. And they both hadn’t gotten enough of each other yet.

Or so George had thought.

If it were simple anger he would be sure that Ross calmed down. One of his lesser qualities was his choleric nature but so far, his anger had left as quickly as it appeared. Normal anger George could deal with but this? He could still see that last look Ross had thrown him and the intense feeling in it. This wasn’t the look of a man who would come around anytime soon; rather, thinking about it now in the calm of his own study, George recognised the look as being more profound. A look that mixed outrage, contempt and, for lack of a better word, a sense of closure.

Ross had made up his mind. Built on his own idea of George’s plan as well as on faulty facts he had decided. And George could think of no possible way to sway his opinion without risking another punch in the face, this time for real.

Besides, it was not his duty to express regret - Ross himself had brought in the idea of being a mistress. And this very fact likely made the notion stick in Ross’ mind. People tended to believe what they thought were their ideas and there was nothing George could say to erase that word from Ross’ mind. Not now and especially not after a possible marriage.

The banker’s face darkened and he helped himself to a glass of sherry. Ross, the man he had thought to be an open book, was ironically enough also the one factor that derailed the entire situation. As much as he hoped that the swing at his face was all Ross needed to regain his wits George was no man to fool himself. He had underestimated the situation and as things looked now Ross had the upper hand. In his understanding he was the injured party (a thought that made George give a humourless chuckle) and if Ross didn’t decide to act their affair would be over. George did not particularly believe in gut feeling but in this circumstance his stomach and his mind aligned to form an opinion. For the one grave mistake George had made he had also gained one undisputable truth: Ross would never seek him out again.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * 

Jinny and her child were well and so Dwight had finished his morning’s work on a high note. He was yet to find a cure for a particularly nasty cough that some of the older miners suffered from but in general his work and research were advancing well. He worked hard and saw the benefits come in one by one. His compassion for the poor was no secret and save for a handful people (among them Dr Choake) the gentry in Cornwall looked at him in a mixture of awe and curiosity – a circumstance that had brought him one or two admirers. Especially Miss Penvenen had gone out of her way to talk to him and lately Dwight found himself inclined to invite her. Not to Nampara, of course, but maybe to go for a ride along the countryside. If only his own shyness weren’t in the way. As a doctor he was confident. As a man asking a woman to spend time with him… that was a whole different matter.

Dwight took off his overcoat and placed it on the hook as he entered Nampara. The house was quiet but then again it was just after noon. Ross would be out on the field, making use of the last few days of summer. Dwight helped himself to a mug of water when he remembered that he had seen al equipment neatly placed inside the barn and now that he looked closer he realised Ross’ whip and hat were missing.

_Oh_. Dwight’s mood darkened slightly as his mind immediately jumped to what he had hoped to let go. It certainly wasn’t market day and Ross hadn’t mentioned any business he needed to take care of the last few days. But then again they hadn’t seen each other often lately.

No further rumours had made it to Dwight’s ears and it seemed the earlier ones had died down. He sincerely hoped that the one determined announcement at the Red Lion had been enough for the scandalmongers. It was either that or people became more careful in his presence, knowing about his friendship for Ross as well as the fact that he lived at Nampara, too. Keeping his own mind at ease, however, proved to be more of a challenge.

On some level, Dwight knew. His continued refusal to put it into words, even in his own mind, gave him a hint of solace but every time Ross left the house and headed along the meadows his suspicion became more focussed. Ross’ irregular questions concerning his whereabouts were only another hint in a long line of facts that Dwight had tried to ignore for a long time. It was not that he had anything against the kind of thing Ross was most likely pursuing. The choice of George was nothing Dwight could understand but then again it wasn’t his business. No, what made him weary was the nonchalance with which the two men went about their business. Capital punishment for sodomy would not be relented solely on account of their social class. If anything the public uproar would be greater and influence the responsible judges.

Dwight slightly shook his head to make these gloomy thoughts disappear. There was no imminent danger and the promise he had made to himself still stood – if he heard so much as a whisper on the subject he would confront Ross. As a friend. In the meantime, however, Dwight sincerely hoped that the current rumours about George and Miss Porter were true. It seemed that his own bet from the ball at Sir Hugh’s had been somewhat correct. He had heard through the grapevine that they were a very likely match. Warleggan senior seemed to keep all possible involvements low-key for now but a member of their staff had allegedly overheard a conversation between him and George that strongly suggested an upcoming wedding. At least if the Warleggans had their way. And Dwight was sure that this would put an end to whatever was happening between George and Ross.

He should spend more time with Ross anyway – they had really lost sight of each other recently even though they lived together. A mug of ale in Truro or simply a shared meal in Nampara. That’d be good for both of them. Dwight could talk to Ross about Miss Penvenen and knowing his friend he’d be happy for him. And maybe supply him with a bit of advice.

For now Dwight would grab a bite to eat and, after a short break, continue with his work. He got out the loaf of bread just when he heard the familiar clatter of hooves coming up the pathway. Maybe this shared meal came quicker than Dwight had thought – Ross must be hungry too, though for which reasons Dwight preferred to ignore.

“Hello, Ross,” he said as the heavy boots sounded on Nampara’s floorboards, “would you like something to eat, too?”

Yet before Ross answered Dwight knew that this would not be a relaxed get-together at all. Ross all but stormed into the kitchen, still wearing his overcoat and hat which he now grabbed and threw on the table.

“This presumptuous little rat,” Ross hissed through gritted teeth and for a moment Dwight wasn’t sure whether he had taken in his presence.

“What is the matter?” Dwight asked, concerned. “Who upset you like that?”

“George,” Ross growled.

As Dwight had feared. He put down the plate he had just taken from the cupboard and turned to Ross. His friend stood still but every muscle was tense.

“The prick thinks he can have it all according to his whims.”

With an abrupt shrug Ross rid himself of his overcoat only to pace through the kitchen. “The arrogance on him. He decides and everyone else is to dance to his tunes.”

Dwight still stood in his spot, unsure whether Ross actually took in his presence. His friend wasn’t a calm soul as he well knew but he had never seen him like this before. _Maybe it’s got something to do with the potential marriage._

“Is this about George and Miss Porter?” Dwight asked in an attempt to stop Ross’ rambling.

“What?” He stopped in his tracks and looked at Dwight with narrowed eyes.

“I overheard someone talking about a likely match.”

Ross shook his head in disbelief. “She’s just like him, you know. Ambitious. What a perfect couple.”

The last sentence dripped with venom and a strange feeling grew in Dwight’s stomach.

“I don’t see why this is necessarily a bad thing?” he said carefully, hoping that Ross had an answer that did not scratch along the inkling Dwight liked to ignore.

Ross ran his hand through his face and took a deep breath. Still he seemed to be brimming with angry energy that even the outburst could not quench. “Can you imagine what a Warleggan-Porter connection means for the miners? George’s influence will grow. Quickly.”

“But nothing is set yet,” Dwight objected, only to add a shrug he hoped conveyed casualness, “You know how these things are.”

Ross drew his brows together and said gravely, “It won’t be long.”

With a long stride he made for the cupboard and helped himself to a mug of ale, chugging the first half and refilling immediately. Dwight felt uneasier by the minute. Ross was a man strong in his likes and dislikes but this outburst followed by an almost sullen mood was more than strange.

“Ross, what happened with you and George?” Dwight finally asked.

“Nothing.” The brunet didn’t meet his eyes.

Dwight took a deep breath. “I just don’t believe that this potential marriage is the reason why you’re in such a state. The tendency was there already at Sir Hugh’s ball.”

“Dwight, I appreciate your concern but this is none of your business.” Sharp in tone, decisive.

If this were a normal conversation Dwight would respect Ross’ wish and leave him to his thoughts. But this was a far cry from a regular situation. It was all so frustratingly obvious, the facts staring into Dwight’s face that it was impossible to ignore them. And if he didn’t say anything no one would – except someone with an ulterior motive.

Dwight turned fully to Ross. “You are aware that there are rumours about you?”

Ross didn’t look up from his mug. “There are always rumours.”

“But these are truly unpleasant,” Dwight said, carefully choosing his following formulation. “They involve your private life. Yours and George’s.”

If Dwight had feared another outburst he was disappointed. Ross didn’t react at all and it was only his tightening grip around the mug that betrayed his anger.

“Rumours have a limited life expectancy,” Ross answered coldly, “It’ll blow over soon, when the crowd finds something more interesting.”

The dismissal was clear but Dwight had started to go down this road. This was his chance to finally address what he had heard and to put his mind at rest – one way or another. “I’m not so sure this will happen.”

This drew a humourless chuckle from Ross. “Ah. And you believe what you heard.”

“Don’t make me the villain, Ross,” Dwight said and against his will a hint of sharpness snuck into his tone. _Calm down_. “You ask me when I’m out of the house and when I’m working all my patients are careful not to mention our friendship. In fact, whichever way I turn I have the feeling that people quiet down so that I would not hear them talk about you and George. I do meet many people in my line of work and this is exactly why I am wary about this kind of silence. It doesn’t sit right. Tell me, Ross, what should I make of this?”

“Why do you ask?” Ross asked slowly, “You clearly arrived at your conclusion, what more is there to say.”

“I believe your word, Ross, not theirs,” Dwight said truthfully, hoping that the sentiment didn’t go unnoticed.

“What do you want to hear, then?” The question was just short of a hiss.

“I simply want you to be honest with me.” Dwight remained calm in hopes to balance out Ross’ edginess, to keep the situation as civil as possible. He was on Ross’ side, how much clearer could he make it?

Ross slowly looked up from his drink, catching Dwight’s eye and for the first time in this sorry excuse of a conversation he looked at him. Properly. Behind the dark eyes Dwight could almost feel the anger stirring but he didn’t look away, not now that they have come so far.

“George and I have an arrangement.”

A blow to the stomach couldn’t have been more effective. Dwight felt something in his chest tighten as the simple sentence stood between them, a simple sentence that unravelled all his attempts of reasoning with himself. Here it was, the first honest conversation he and Ross had in months. And it brought him the last piece of evidence that confirmed what he hadn’t wanted to be true.

With effort, Dwight nodded. “I understand.”

The tense streak around Ross’ mouth became stronger but he remained silent.

Dwight wetted his lips. “I just wished you told me before.”

“Well, now you know,” Ross said, suddenly sounding tired. “As does Miss Porter. I hope that satisfies your curiosity. And now get out of my house.”

Dwight looked at him in surprise. “Ross…”

“Get out.”

Ross turned back to his mug without giving Dwight a second glance. The doctor stared at him for a moment as he tried to process Ross’ words. They had been calm but clear and with a heavy heart Dwight put down the cutlery still in his hands. Ross helped himself to another mug of ale as Dwight grabbed his overcoat and his practitioner’s case, making for the door. No sound from Ross, no revoking of his decree.

Hand on the doorknob Dwight hesitated for a moment, turning halfway to Ross. “If you change your mind I’ll be staying at the Red Lion.”

And with that, he left Nampara behind.

 


	18. Truro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads-up: ConsultingFili and I will be on the road for a bit so don’t hold your breath for an update the next three weeks… but I hope you still enjoy the following little extra scene :)

“Dr Enys!” George called out and walked a little quicker across the square. The doctor had just left the Red Lion, practitioner’s case in hand and an aura of general bustle about him. Well, what George wanted to find out wouldn’t take long.

Enys stopped and turned, watching George approach. “Mr Warleggan.”

Apprehension was clearly visible on his face – they had not spent overly much time together but George liked to think of them as associates. It didn’t go as far as employing Enys as his doctor though the reasoning behind it was largely connected to Ross rather than an estimation of his knowledge.

George nodded. “How is business?”

"Keeping me on my feet. My line of work is not easily categorised into good and bad,” Enys answered, not smug in tone but clear in his meaning. Apparently small talk was nothing he’d like to engage in and so George smiled apologetically.

“Of course. I did not mean to suggest that. I hear your work is appreciated and you are building a splendid reputation.”

“I do my work, Mr Warleggan,” Enys answered and only now did George notice the tired streak around his eyes. “And I’m glad if I can help people. Do you suffer from any affliction that requires my attention?”

“I am in good health, thank you.”

Dwight nodded. “Then I’m sure you’ll forgive me taking my leave. I have a few patients outside of Truro today.”

“Before you go,” George lightly touched Eny’s arm for a second and hesitated, “How is Mr Poldark?”

It had been almost three weeks now since their argument after Miss Porter’s sudden appearance. George’s assumption turned out to be right – Ross did not call on him again. It wasn’t disappointment that had made him seek out Dr. Enys. No, rather a feeling of apprehension. The pink streak on his cheek had faded yet George did not like to leave things unfinished. Even though Ross’ take on things had been clear he couldn’t yet assess what would happen if they encountered each other by chance. And that, in George’s mind, definitely checked in as unfinished business.

Eny’s entire demeanour turned rigid at the mention of Ross’ name. George saw his jaw lock and the futile attempt at relaxing it again. “Same as ever I suppose.”

From what George had heard Enys lived at the Red Lion again and the doctor’s strong reaction pointed against a voluntary change of address. Yet George wasn’t here to feast on gossip. He took a small, confidential step towards him.

“Our last meeting took a somewhat disagreeable turn and we have not spoken since,” George said in earnest, “I would be distraught if this caused him to avoid Truro.”

Creases appeared on Eny’s forehead. “With all due respect, Mr Warleggan, I think you overestimate your influence. I’m sure Mr Poldark does as he pleases without reservation. Even if it does not necessarily please other people.”

Coming from Enys these words indeed didn’t carry an insult. George lightly tilted his head in question as the other man’s mouth gained a tense streak at the last statement. Rumours aside, something must have happened between him and Ross and with every passing moment George's apprehension grew.

He cleared his throat and asked quietly, honestly, “Are you among the displeased?”

Enys stared at him for a moment before nodding hesitantly. “Much like yourself.”

George looked closely at him, trying to see behind the words. What Enys implied seemed to be based on more than just a mere extension of George’s inquiry. If Enys had an inkling as to the nature of his relation with Ross… The possibility was definitely there; George hadn’t forgotten the absurd meeting on Nampara’s front door and from what it appeared, neither had the doctor. George looked for clues in his face, trying to predict what would happen next – or what had already happened, what he had done with this particular piece of information. But Enys didn’t give any indication that he felt like discussing their respective reasons.

Instead, he took a deep breath and said in a low voice, “I am no longer welcome at Nampara and from what I gather neither are you. You’d do well in respecting that, if you allow me a word of advice. Not only for Ross’ sake. Your time might be better spent in company of others. People like, say, Miss Porter.”

A prickling feeling of worry crawled up George’s spine when Enys went on, “The public eye tends to be interested in private matters.”

Not a threat but a warning. _Enys knows everything_. From their meetings right down to the argument that had ended their affair so abruptly. And, thinly veiled in these words, others knew as well. Or claimed to know which, in cases like these, was as good as the truth.

“Well,” George said slowly and gave him an appreciative nod, “Thank you, Dr Enys. I appreciate it.”


	19. The Warleggan's Mansion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the writer who took ages to update... *dramatic drumroll*  
> For real though, I'm so sorry that this chapter arrives only now. Real-life stuff happened, muses were absent, you know how it is sometimes. So if you're still reading: thank you so much! I hope you enjoy this rather long chapter.  
> Oh and this is the last but one chapter of this story, just as a fair warning.

George walked through the drawing room of the Warleggan’s mansion, swift in step and his head filled with things that had to be taken care of. The wedding, no, _his_ wedding was but two weeks away and the preparations were in full swing. The menu was decided upon, his outfit would be done by tomorrow and later today, George would arrange for music. His father had luckily given him free reign in the arrangements so that he didn’t have to discuss overly much with him. Boredom or pride – George couldn’t tell which sentiment had made him so lenient but it was safe to say that his engagement to Miss Porter was looked upon favourably. George himself was content with the arrangement, too. Over the past month they had gotten to know each other fairly well and George’s initial assessment of her character had proven to be right. Their marriage wouldn’t be a charade for they sincerely liked and appreciated each other’s company. Not something one could say about many couples of the gentry. The handling of the physical aspect of their marriage was a private decision anyway.

He crossed the long corridor that led past the entrance and to the stairs leading to his study, his destination, as he heard a footman open the front door.

“…see Mr George Warleggan,” George heard a deep voice say. The particular stress on the first syllable of his name brought his mind back from thoughts of musical arrangement – familiar but unheard for a while, standing out when among other voices though mostly heard alone… George drew his brows together when he came closer, the figure still hidden behind the opened door and the footman’s back as he let him in.

George waved the servant away, walking towards the door when the muffled sounds of heavy riding boots accompanied the figure stepping into the parlour.                                                      

Ross.

Sound and figure seemed to realign and inadvertently, George drew in a sharp breath. _That’s impossible_. He felt his body turn rigid and almost heard his teeth grind together but all this was put aside in favour of one sudden sentiment. Anger. Hot, white anger that surged through George suddenly at the mere sight of Ross.

 _How dare he_. Ross, of all people, standing in his parlour like a casual visitor hoping for a chat or a drink on the way home. Ross, who had not only rejected him but had reinforced that argument with his fist. George’s throat tightened. Ross had no right to be here and to bother him in his own home. Hell, he didn’t even have the right to speak to George in public – not after everything that had happened.

But here he was, the very man who George had assumed he’d never see again. Clad in his usual riding gear, the hem of his blue overcoat partly covered in muddy sprinkles, Ross stopped in front of him in a decent distance. His cheeks were slightly reddened from the chilly wind outside and his hands held onto his hat, placed in front of his body, as he looked at George with a hint of a smile.

George pressed his teeth together and tried his best to not let his anger show. As much as he wanted to he couldn’t just raise his voice and throw Ross out the exact way he had come in. Not with all the servants and footmen buzzing through the house. But _god_ , did Ross deserve it.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Ross’ eyes rested steadily on him and the grim anger in George’s stomach gave another jolt. This attack of surprise was worthy of George himself, the audacity of Ross to appear at ease nothing but pure provocation but what unsettled him most was his own strong reaction. Weeks had passed since the incident, months even, and George had been sure to have put the matter aside.

Bringing his hands to his front George straightened up. He didn’t fear an imminent attack, no, but he had suffered through Ross’ moods long enough now to be defensive in his own home.

“Ross.” George’s voice sounded cold even to himself. The bow he offered barely met the minimum of politeness.

“Hello George,” Ross answered, measured in tone and mirroring the gesture.

“I didn’t expect you.” A stark understatement and George just about kept a neutral face.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” Ross said in a tone that was almost soft, underlined with a smile George had once found agreeable.

“Not as such,” George replied, chilly in tone. If this was a demonstration of politeness Ross was exceedingly bad at it. George _knew_ him, had known him for a long time and in a number of different ways, and this was just short of insulting his intelligence. He jutted his chin forward. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to talk to you. Alone, preferably.” Ross’ expression didn’t betray his aims.

George hesitated, then nodded sharply and turned towards the stairs. Behind him, Ross handed his hat and overcoat to a footman and followed him, the creaking of the steps making for a strange symphony for this utterly unexpected scene.

George was glad not to look Ross in the eyes for a moment. After their fight George had been calm and considered their arrangement finished. It was only after a while that a feeling of anger mixed into it – when his cheek burned under the ointment and he replayed the scene time and again in his mind, Ross’ sheer disrespectfulness multiplied with every loop. Of course George had understood where Ross’ physical anger had come from. But that excused neither the act itself nor the utter condescension he had offered him.

And now Ross had decided to call on him on his own incentive and for a reason George couldn’t grasp yet. But he was determined to find out. In any case, the privacy Ross had asked for would be consisting of another drawing room. Neither his study nor, god forbid, his private bedroom.

“May I offer you a drink?” George asked when they entered the upstairs room and gestured to the silver tray on the table, fully equipped with glasses and bottles.

“Thank you,” Ross nodded. The strange calm he exuded did nothing to appease George’s nerves. Yet if Ross could hold on to conventions so could he and thus he prepared two glasses.

George passed Ross his glass and took two steps back to position himself opposite him, opening up a considerable space between them. The brunet didn’t acknowledge the obvious distance at all when he lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. In fact, none of his defensive behaviour appeared to perturb Ross and George couldn’t stop the anger in his stomach to spark anew. This was ridiculous, this muted tension that aimed to gloss over the repercussions of their unpleasant meeting. Knowing Ross this encounter was likely to escalate as well – but this time George would be alert, standing his ground.

He looked at Ross closely and asked, his voice detached, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I know it has been a while,” Ross began, easy as if he had merely forgotten to write while away in London. _What an opening_. “There were things I had to take care of. As did you, from what I hear.”

“And what did you hear?” George asked, tilting his head in feigned interest. “I was under the impression you practised a hermit lifestyle.”

“I learnt of your engagement and the grand dinner. Congratulations are in order.” Ross nodded graciously as he uttered the words.

George merely raised an eyebrow. Ross’ insane aversion towards Miss Porter had been incomprehensible to him from the beginning but receiving mocking good wishes was in bad taste, even for Ross’ questionable ideas of politeness.

“Thank you,” George answered courtly but his voice remained cold.

“Miss Porter,” Ross nodded, “So it is to be her.”

“Indeed.”

George saw Ross’ lips curl into a grin, aloof and malicious, like it always did when he was on the verge of attacking. “Tell me, George...”

“No, Ross,” George interrupted him sharply and he heard his voice turn nasty in his own ears. This man was so incredibly _arrogant_ , this audacity attacking his wife-to-be, purely out of malevolence and a classicist mindset he was blind to.

George’s hand tightened around the glass of wine as his eyes pierced Ross’. “I won’t answer any of your certainly impertinent questions. My marriage is none of your concern and I refuse to discuss Miss Porter with you.”

“I didn’t mean to offer insult,” Ross said, meeting George’s stare and staying put.

The banker shook his head in resentment. “I hardly believe that. Our last conversation about…” George hesitated for a split second and wetted his lips, “about _her_ was disagreeable enough. You made your opinion very clear. Of her and of me.”

The swift swing of Ross’ fist, the throbbing mark on his cheek. The months they hadn’t seen each other and his conversation with Enys, the realisation that he knew. And the subsequent courting of Miss Porter. It all fell into place, seamlessly so. Disgustingly so.

“Which begs the question,” George said slowly, through gritted teeth, “Why are you here?”

The one question that needed an answer, which George could neither piece together nor let Ross leave without providing it.

Across from him Ross simply stood still. No sign of an impending choleric outburst, of a physical reaction – the tranquillity in his posture was almost uncanny as George stared at him, waiting for him to speak.

Ross’ lips curled. Slowly, so very slowly a smile appeared on them, the full lower lip curving. George’s eyes narrowed as he watched the motion. If Ross retreated to offering him ridicule and mockery again… but to his surprise the brunet lowered his head lightly and smirked.

“Do you really have to ask?” Ross said quietly and lifted an eyebrow. “It has been quite a while but you cannot have forgotten what we usually do this day and hour of the week.”

The sudden ease in the smooth flow of words took George aback and in the next instant an incredulous laugh grew in his throat. Ross couldn’t be serious. Coming in here unannounced, faking politeness, only to assume that George would be willing to spread his legs for him? Two months earlier and they would have indeed done more than stand here. Of course he had thought of their previous encounters, more times than he would admit. But Ross’ crude way of reminding him only encouraged his annoyance.

Across from him, Ross still looked at him with that damned half-smirk that seemed to find an extension in the thin line of the scar. Then, without another word, he took a step towards George and lifted his hand but before Ross could touch him the banker moved back and out of reach. Ross couldn’t simply ignore their fight and continue their arrangement as if nothing had happened.

George lifted his chin as he looked at Ross. It was neither instinct nor cowardice that made him retreat. No, Ross should well know that he was not entitled to any kind of indecent behaviour. Not anymore. 

“Most of all,” George said, chilly in tone, “I have not forgotten you hitting me in the face.”

Ross lowered his stretched-out hand slowly and stepped back, tilting his head.

“I was angry,” he simply said.

George could hardly believe what he heard. This new restraint in Ross was a surprise but the fact that he actually met George’s statement seemed utterly strange. But there was another way of looking at this situation. What if this wasn’t a ruse? What if Ross had realised that he needed their encounters as much as George did.

A rush of blood surged through George together with a sudden feeling of superiority. Ross Poldark, knocking on his door, driven by need and desire for him. This time, it could be George who openly called the shots – and it would be his decision whether he accepted or rejected Ross’ advances.

“Angry,” George said with a dash of condescension, “and exceedingly disrespectful.”

Ross cringed for a split second and George just about suppressed a pleased grin. _Let’s see how far this newfound self-reflection extends_. Seeing Ross all apologetic and eager to please was certainly a new experience. And, at the same time, it proved to be a useful tool to ascertain if Ross was actually honest.

To George’s surprise, Ross remained calm.

“George, you know me well enough,” he said. “I have a temper, and it was but an impulse.”

This was as close to an apology as Ross would ever offer. George looked at him closely to scan his calm expression. This wasn’t the face of a man on his knees, asking for forgiveness, but at the same time it showed no falseness – Ross had uttered the words and meant them, waiting for George’s reaction before doing anything else.

George wetted his lips in anticipation, a dash of intoxicating nervousness running through him. Indeed, he knew Ross well enough. Which is why this situation, though entirely coveted by George, felt unreal.  But for all intents and purposes, the thought was an intriguing one. All evidence pointed towards the fact that Ross meant what he said. And George would be lying if the thought of another lay didn’t appeal.

He cleared his throat quietly and said, almost in a soft tone, “I did not think I’d see you again. Not in private, anyway.”

Ross looked at him intensely when he answered. “This can’t be such a bad surprise then, can it?”

His voice was low, cadence the same like the one he used in the bedroom and George couldn’t help but feel himself react to it. It had certainly been too long. One word from him and the next hour could be spent behind closed doors where they’d make up for lost time. The possibility laid out in front of him was a thing of beauty but still a hint of doubt remained in George’s mind and held him back.

“And whatever happened to not wanting to be my _mistress_?” George asked, stressing the operative word deliberately. If there was one way to be sure of Ross’ sincerity it was this. The one word that had derailed the situation before. 

A tense streak seemed to form around Ross’ mouth – it vanished as quickly as it had come and George wasn’t sure whether he had actually seen it. The intensity in Ross’ eyes didn’t ease up and the banker almost felt exposed under them.

Another heartbeat and Ross answered. “You are not married yet.”

George lifted his glass to his lips and took a sip of wine to wet his suddenly dry throat. Indeed. He wasn’t married, neither was Ross, and the answer had a clever edge to it. No promises for the future – whether negotiations would be reopened was another matter entirely but for now the offer was here. Untainted by their fight and regardless of what would happen in due time.

“I cannot be sure your… temper won’t get the better of you again. I’d rather not cover up a black eye at my wedding,” George said and sincerely hoped that the slight tremor of keenness in his voice went unnoticed. The threat of breaking the deal with this statement was high, George was aware of that, but he couldn’t help himself. For once he was at the centre of Ross’ attention, craved for such a long time and furthered with every encounter. There was no shame in enjoying the moment of his victory and drawing it out a little longer. And an additional test before he would graciously give in was certainly not misplaced.

Instead of answering Ross’ put his glass on a serving table to his left, twisting his body slightly. Then, his now free right hand reached into his pocket while his eyes caught George again. The banker drew his brows together as Ross’ hand appeared again, holding a piece of cloth between two fingers and slowly pulling it from his pocket. 

George almost huffed in surprise as the fabric caught the light and shimmered faintly between Ross’ fingers.

Silk. Lilac silk.

The very kerchief George had brought to Nampara in the dawn of their affair. The kerchief he had used to convince Ross of a more refined approach to their meetings. The kerchief he had thrown onto the bed afterwards, leaving Nampara with a smug grin and the knowledge that Ross would find it.

George swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. _He kept it._ All these months he had kept it locked up somewhere in Nampara. It has started out as a piece of George’s wardrobe and a change in pace. In Ross’ hand though, the kerchief became something else; a reminder and a brief feeling of trust scuttered through the banker.

George felt the stem of his glass press into his hand, his whole body suddenly tense. Across from him Ross still looked at him without saying a word and merely presenting the cloth with casual nonchalance. George breathed out slowly and drew his eyes away from the kerchief when Ross took a careful step towards him.

This time, George didn’t move. Ross’ eyes searched for a sign of resistance in his face but George knew that he wouldn’t find any – the doubt he had fostered was entirely gone. If anything, his face must look slightly flushed; his pulse fluttered under his skin and warmth spread through his body which George knew too well. Another dull thud of boot on carpet as Ross came closer still. This irresistible mixture of intensity and control Ross exuded seemed to hit George again. Close as they were, way too close for a formal occasion, George made out the specks in Ross’ eyes and the lines around them, the straight nose and under it, the utterly sinful mouth.

Ross didn’t reach for him; both his hands were empty save for the silk band but he kept them on his side when he leaned forwards and brushed his lips against George’s. The banker’s heart leapt into his throat as the feeling of Ross’ lips on his unfolded – soft pressure and the faint taste of salt and the wine he had offered him were the first things George noticed, warmth that left a prickling sensation on his mouth. This was nothing like the hungry, hard kiss he had expected which would leave his lower lip throbbing. A caress rather than the expression of need this kiss was almost tentative and George’s mind inadvertently jumped back to the strange moment after Ross had taken him in front of the mirror. And whatever Ross was doing right now held the same incomprehensible intensity. George could barely stop himself from following Ross’ mouth when he pulled back, leaving the banker wanting _more_.

The silk band, the kiss – George felt light-headed as the imprint of the kiss still pulsated on his lips, a coherent thought yet to be formed in his mind. When it did it took all his doubt away; this didn’t feel like insolence or a trick. On the contrary. Ross’ effort and his kiss spoke of the very essence of their relationship, the undeniable attraction and pull towards each other that defied reason.

In Ross’ eyes George could see his own desire mirrored and with a short nod he motioned him to follow. The banker went into his bedroom first and a moment later he heard the familiar click of the door. Only then he turned around.

Ross stood with the door in his back and the dressing table and armchair to his left, a few feet away from George. But whereas feigned calm had characterised him before he now seemed entirely different: Ross stared at him with an almost wild look in his eyes and George felt a shiver run up his neck. _This_ was the Ross he knew, the Ross he was still angry with deep down. And the Ross he desperately wanted.

In two large steps George covered the ground between them and all but crashed his mouth onto Ross’. For a moment he didn’t know whether he wanted to bite or kiss him – the anger that had simmered in him for weeks now seemed to erupt at the same time as his lust. His lips met Ross’, his teeth found his lower lip and dragged along it but when Ross pressed his body against George the decision was made.

His tongue slid into Ross’ mouth with a low groan and immediately, the other man responded. Ross’ lips joined in with George’s rhythm and the banker tasted his barely concealed impatience and both their sudden need. Eager fingers carded through his carefully groomed hair and tugged lightly while George stroked down Ross’ back greedily; he felt the muscular physique despite the fabric under his fingertips and George pulled him closer by the small of his back. Ross followed and when he ground into him deeply George’s kiss turned hungrier. God, the _taste_ of him went directly to his cock, hardening against Ross’ groin. The brunet huffed in response, slid his tongue against George’s and moved his hand from his hair down to his neck in a driven caress. His coarse thumb stroked over his throat in teasing lightness and George couldn’t suppress a moan when it slid under his neckcloth, cool in comparison to the warmth that had built.

With a hard suck to his lower lip Ross broke the kiss to focus on undoing the knot; George’s hands moved along Ross’ sides and to the buttons of his waistcoat, quickly, urging. Under his trembling finger the first button opened, the second, and when he undid the third one the fabric of his neckcloth bit into his skin before Ross pulled it aside completely. Ross’ head darted forward to kiss the hollow of his throat and George pushed against his lips, his groin, his body as he pulled the brunet’s waistcoat down his arms and let it fall to the floor.

“Strip,” Ross murmured hoarsely and the command washed hotly through George. His hands darted to his own waistcoat and all but ripped it open, shrugging it off. His hard nipples pressed against the fabric of his dress shirt and as Ross ran his thumbs over them George couldn’t help but moan; Ross hadn’t forgotten how sensitive his nipples were and the sudden flash of pleasure made his cock harden.

Yet Ross’ fingers didn’t remain on his chest for long. Instead, he stroked up his sides, hands meeting bare skin as he dragged George’s dress shirt upwards. For a second he saw arousal in Ross’ eyes that paralleled his own – then, his shirt being pulled over his head obstructed his sight with momentary blindness. As soon as he could see again Ross’ mouth was back on his.

George trembled under the forceful kiss and the nip to his lower lip had him moan sharply. G _od_ , this feeling of being wanted again, half-naked and Ross’ to behold, made George’s mind reel. His beginning erection strained against his breeches and without much ado, Ross broke the kiss, grabbed the shirt’s back and pulled it over the shock of curls.

Despite their proximity George’s eyes were drawn by what the hem revealed. The waistband of Ross’ breeches sat impossibly low on his hips. Pointed hipbones, flat stomach and muscled chest seemed all the more defined in the harsh midday light that flooded the bedroom and when Ross threw the shirt to the side George lost no further time. His hands stroked along the hard muscles on Ross stomach and he leaned forward to press his mouth under the brunet’s strong jaw, onto his pulse.

“George…” Ross said breathlessly and George felt his own name against his lips. His cock stirred at the sound and sensation – a teasing vibration that seemed to extend past his mouth and claimed his body. He licked over the spot again and Ross’ pulse fluttered under the light suction and when George’s right moved into his neck to pull him closer his Adam’s apple jumped in a dry swallow. The feeling of _Ross_ on his skin was thrilling as he kissed down the deep valley between his sinews and inhaled his heady scent. His left brushed against the waistband and in a moment of bold initiative he pressed against the outline of Ross’ cock. It was only a tentative, light touch but Ross exhaled shakily and laid his right over George’s hand.

The banker moaned into Ross’ neck as his hard cock slid against his palm. Ross had apparently missed their encounters as much as he had and George couldn’t wait to feel the heat of the brunet’s body directly on his bare skin, touch his erection, feel it between his cheeks and against his hole.

Just then Ross grabbed his arms and pushed him back. It wasn’t the rough manhandling George was used to but a rather an urging and he walked back without hesitation until his legs hit his bed frame. George’s hand pressed against Ross’ cock; the brunet’s lips were parted and under his gaze George felt already stripped bare. With a light push by Ross he let himself fall onto the mattress and not a second later the brunet followed, half kneeling between his legs. George felt Ross’ hungry mouth on his and just managed to kick his boots off before he made him move up the bed. The sound of the heels falling onto the wooden floor echoed through the room but George didn’t care if anyone heard. In Ross’ eyes he saw determination, in his movements he felt impatience and it was _he_ who brought it out in Ross, he alone, and the certainty of it ran hotly through George. His shoulders met the plush cushion and Ross pressed him into it with a kiss that stole his breath.

God, to feel Ross so close again, crawling over him and pressing against him in desire – his hands ran down Ross’ naked back, outlining the clear strands of muscle and making their way down to his arse. George couldn’t help but grab his cheek and squeeze. Ross’ mouth on his neck was sucking a bruise into his skin and the banker moaned out, loudly this time. Ross’ arse fit perfectly into his hand and at that moment, he ground down. Despite the two layers of clothing George felt the heat of Ross, the hardness of his cock, and both their gasps sounded beautifully in his ears. Against his neck Ross moaned with a sound that could well have been a strained “George…” and the banker bucked his hips against him. To think that he had almost made Ross leave again if it hadn’t been for the kerchief seemed like an incomprehensible notion with Ross’ weight on him.

The kerchief. Ross had put it back into his pocket in the moments before they made it to the bedroom. George’s left pressed Ross closer to him and again the brunet ground into him with fervour, their erections rubbing against each other as Ross dipped his tongue into the hollow of his throat. A trail of gooseflesh broke out on George’s neck and he gripped Ross’ arse tighter while his right stroked over the curve to the front until his fingers brushed against the seam of his pocket. Without a second thought George reached into it and closed his fingers around the kerchief. Smooth and cool it wound around his hand as George pulled it out slowly.

“You little thief,” Ross hissed and pinned George’s right next to his head. The banker had almost expected a tight grip, fingers digging into his skin. But Ross merely held his wrist lightly and George relaxed fully at this concession to his physical hesitation from earlier. Ross’ other hand took the end of the kerchief and pulled, the cloth uncurling from George’s palm.

“Thief?” George echoed, his voice husky from lust as he looked into Ross’ face so close to his. “It’s mine, as you certainly recall.”

The kerchief slid smoothly through his hand and just before Ross could take it entirely from him George closed his fist around it.

Keenly aware of Ross’ weight on him and the heat that seemed to be trapped between their half-naked bodies George stared back at him, at the unruly curls framing his face and almost touching his shoulder.

“And it shall be returned to you,” Ross said in a low tone and George breathed out shakily, his heart beating heavier. “As soon as I’m satisfied with your generous loan.”

Connecting both their hands the lilac silk shimmered in the small space between them as they stared each other for a second. Then, Ross pulled at the kerchief and grabbed George’s wrist, wrapping the silk once around his right in a quick move and let his hand fall back onto the sheet. Cool silk clung to his overheated skin and George felt a slight pull on his wrist as Ross stretched it. An implied restraint for both of them, just the right amount to make feel George safe. And utterly aroused.

“Ross,” he said breathily but before he could add anything the brunet lowered his head and pressed his mouth on George’s nipple. The banker breathed in sharply when Ross’ tongue circled it, once, twice – the third lick went right across and George moaned out loudly. His unrestrained left darted forward and grabbed a fistful of Ross’ hair, following his movements as he sucked and licked over his nipple with thrilling recklessness. A sudden wave of pleasure shot through him and he arched his back to press his chest closer to Ross’ mouth, to his demanding tongue. The brunet’s right fingered his other nipple and both sensations combined perfectly. God, the intensity of Ross’ attention to his chest was incredible and George squirmed under his weight, their clothed erections still pressed tightly against each other. His cock grew harder with every lick and pinch and the fact that Ross was equally excited felt like fuel on the fire of George’s yearning. Ross dragged his stubbly cheek across his sensitive nipple and George groaned out from deep within his throat.

He moved his right hand, only to be stopped by the lilac silk. Ross’ fist still grabbed the other end of the kerchief and with a wicked glint in his eyes he looked up from George’s chest. The banker felt beads of sweat form on his upper lip when Ross ground his hips slowly and lowered his head again. His pink tongue darted out and this time George didn’t only feel but saw the lick over his chest, the swipe along his hard nipple and the shimmering residue of Ross’ spit left on it. George moaned again, drawn out and low as his pulse quickened further. The slow waves of Ross’ grinding felt so rousing, as did the pull on his wrist. Here he was again, ready to offer himself up for Ross – and George couldn’t possibly find any shame in it. Every touch was spiced by the long absence and even though Ross held the right end of the kerchief George knew he felt the same.

Ross kissed up his chest and throat slowly, in tune with his grinding hips, and George tried to catch his breath. The change in pace was intriguing and when Ross reached his ear he felt his chest hair chafe lightly over his still sensitive nipples.

A lingering kiss behind his ear and Ross whispered, “I want to blindfold you.”

His hot breath hit George’s skin and it took him a moment to understand the suggestion. In another situation George would have enjoyed the idea yet right now he couldn’t help but feel something akin to refusal. He wanted to see Ross, plain and simple. See his stern face, see the look of tension and relief in his eyes, watch his body move in tune with George’s as they bucked against each other in need. But most of all, George wanted to see whatever it was that had brought Ross back into his bed. Then again, Ross offering an idea was in itself an intriguing thing. The nudge in the right direction had paid off tenfold and who was George to deny him a facet they hadn’t tried yet.

Ross’ mouth still at his ear George nodded.

“Good,” Ross murmured and pushed himself up to straddle the banker. George licked his lips, tasting salt as he looked up at Ross. The scar, the long and defined nose, the full lips, the dark eyes under prominent eyebrows – George’s eyes soaked it all up, a last moment before he would be robbed of this sight. Ross’ thighs pressed against his hip and the clear outline of his hard cock, restrained by the breeches, made him wish he hadn’t given in so quickly. But then Ross caught his bound wrist lightly and loosened the wrapped silk. The soft pull on George’s arm eased up and he saw the lilac trail leaving his skin, only to be replaced by Ross’ fingers tracing the veins of his forearm. Warmth radiated from his touch and crawled under his skin.

George ran his free left over Ross’ clothed thigh when the brunet leaned down again and pressed his lips on his. George’s eyes fell shut in delight, his lips opened and Ross licked slowly, languidly into his mouth. George sighed into the kiss and when Ross pulled back he felt silk sliding over his closed eyes. A light touch and it simply lay on his face, cool on his skin, without a knot to fasten it. On instinct George opened his eyes under the silk and brought his hands up to touch the kerchief but then he felt Ross’ fingers around his wrists, gently bringing them down again.

The silk did not swallow all light as George had thought. Instead his world consisted of silhouettes. The faint outline of Ross’ head and the bright patch to his right where the sun was falling through the window. But other than that – a lilac blur that seemed to draw his attention from one spot to the next with every changing angle of the light. No, his eyes’ endeavour to make sense of what he was seeing was bordering on irritating and so he closed his eyes again. He would definitely want to gain the most of this new experience.

He didn’t have to wait long. A rustling sound reached his ear and the fraction of a second later he felt Ross’ lips back on his chest. George tensed up for a moment – the touch seemed unexpected now that his eyes didn’t keep him informed but the slow drag of Ross’ mouth on his skin assured him. The feeling of Ross on top of him was still the same, too, and when he began to kiss a trail down his stomach George gasped. Suddenly there was the scratch of Ross’ stubble between the kisses, clear and pronounced as if he could feel every single hair. And next to it, a faint tingling of something soft… _His curls_. And in tune to his mouth his hands slid down George’s sides. The banker’s skin broke out in gooseflesh as he realised how warm Ross’ hands were, their firm grip telling him loudly how much Ross meant all this. His scent in George’s nose seemed more pronounced now, a faint hint of sweat under the heady smell that seemed to wrap around him. George carefully stretched out his hands and grasped Ross’ upper arms. Firm to the touch the muscles shifted under George’s fingertips and when Ross kissed the spot above his waistband the banker moaned quietly. In his mind’s eye Ross was so very close to his erection, a mere inch from brushing against it. The image of his red lips against his pale skin… They were both definitely too dressed to match their arousal and just then, Ross grabbed his waistband and undid his breeches.

George took a deep breath as the pressure on his cock waned slightly. Not long now and Ross would be touching him properly, every stroke a new surprise to George’s momentary blindness. But for the moment his hands were gone from his skin; instead, George felt the mattress shift and his fingers lost touch of Ross, uselessly falling to his sides as he heard his bedside table creak. It was amazing how much his ears picked up now that his eyes were incapacitated – he heard Ross rummaging in the drawer, pushing away the notebook and pen he kept in there, the spare candles, the matches, followed by the sharp sound of glass on wood as he picked out the vial of oil.  

But before George could hear the scrape of the clasp Ross’ weight on him shifted and vanished, the mattress moving and a light brush against his parted legs as Ross positioned himself between them. Then, his hands were back on George’s waistband and this time, they pulled the breeches down. George drew in a sharp breath as the sudden drag of fabric against his hard cock sent sparks through him. Ross wasn’t messing around anymore. The pull was a confident one and George lifted his hips for the moment it took Ross to slide the garment over his arse. The low sound of them falling to the floor next to the bed and George’s skin crawled with anticipation as he tried to wrap his head around this utterly new situation. Here he was, entirely naked – save for the narrow silk band across his eyes.

George wetted his lips. This was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Even though he couldn’t see he could tell that Ross still knelt between his legs, vial in hand and when the scraping of the clasp sounded the faint smell of his oil reached his nose, a small dose of lavender that mixed with the fresh sheet and Ross’ scent on him.

“George,” Ross murmured huskily and just like that George became aware of how utterly exposed he actually was. He could _feel_ Ross’ eyes on him, tracing the shape of his body and the curve of his cock while he couldn’t make out more than a few shadows. Ross with his lips surely parted and gazing down on him, deciding what to do next with this offering. And George liked it.

The mattress moved again and suddenly there was Ross’ left stroking up his thigh and not a moment later his tongue ran up George’s cock. _Christ_. The banker couldn’t stop himself; a sound that was embarrassingly close to a yelp shot out of his throat as Ross’ wet tongue reached the tip and slowly circled it.

“Christ,” George gasped and his right grabbed his curls when Ross repeated the action. The sensation was just as intense as the first time. The pressure of Ross’ tongue on his cock felt so incredibly _good_. A low tingling sent out by the lick on the base and a deep sound in George’s throat, a longer lick upwards that turned George’s moan breathy, a slow circle which made his breath hitch. Movement and sound seemed to align perfectly; Ross closed his lips around the head of his cock and _suckled_. George’s hips moved upwards on instinct, his body demanding to feel more of this wonderfully warm and wet mouth on his sensitive skin. But there were Ross’ nails digging into his side and pressing him down onto the soft sheet. George breathed out shakily and with difficulty he kept his hips still when Ross began to bob his head.

 _God_. If his mouth had been exhilarating before this sensation was immeasurable. Ross’ mouth slid halfway down his cock and up again, the saliva on his skin momentarily cooling and sending sharp arousal through George before his lips were back on the spot anew. The banker’s breath picked up, not only because of Ross’ mouth – the very thought that he gave him head spurred on George’s arousal, an event that had only happened once before. This really was a special situation and George could just about resist the urge to pull off the blindfold and _watch_. Watch Ross caress his cock and press his hand against his hipbone, watch how his lips were wrapped tightly around his erection.

George felt his thighs tense as Ross continued to bob his head. Every move made him go deeper, take more of George’s cock into his mouth and the drag of his tongue on the underside made the banker grab the curls harder. A disapproving groan from Ross vibrated so thrillingly along his erection and before long sweat covered George’s body in a thin layer. Between his legs, the brunet shifted his weight again and with a long, slow move he pulled off.

George moaned in frustration and his fingers slid out of Ross’ hair; he was somewhere on the far side of the bed, and George lowered his hand again. Any attempt to reach for Ross would be fruitless. Through the blindfold he couldn’t tell the distance and he certainly wouldn’t embarrass himself by grabbing into thin air. As much effort as it took he would have to wait for Ross’ next move, lying here all hard while his cock was still coated in Ross’ spit. His skin tingled – whether it was from the cool draft of Ross’ movements or his eyes on him George couldn’t tell exactly but either way he felt strangely aware of his body. His hands at his side, his legs spread, his lips parted in the faint hope of another kiss, a touch, _something_ …

“God, you look so…” Ross murmured and his voice intoxicated George like sweet wine. It sounded rough from the service he had just offered, a husky twist to his low cadence and George wished Ross would offer another word. But instead Ross’ hand moved down from his hip bone to the inside of his thigh when something cool brushed against George’s hole. A quiet gasp stumbled over his lips as Ross slowly moved his finger in a small circle – the oil felt slippery and the easy pressure Ross applied made George squirm with anticipation. Even though he hadn’t been overly chaste since their fight the last person to have taken him like that had been Ross. George breathed deeply and when Ross brushed across his entrance once more his legs moved without his say-so, pushing against Ross’ other hand on his thigh. George bent his right knee, pulling it up to give Ross better access and the brunet took the hint. His finger pushed into George and the banker could hear Ross’ excited breath, his hand on his thigh grabbing harder. Ross’ finger inside him just began to move when his mouth returned to the banker’s cock.

This time, George didn’t think to take off the blindfold. A wave of arousal washed through him as all his remaining senses painted a picture in his mind that could hardly been better in reality. The smell not only of Ross’ scent and fresh sweat but of pure, undiluted arousal hit his nostrils as Ross took him into his mouth. The hot, wet sensation on his cock joined forces with the drag of his finger inside him and George heard a low groan he could only assume was his own. Mixing into it were the utterly sinful sounds of Ross’ mouth as he licked and sucked; George pressed his shoulders into the mattress and tried to control his hips when Ross’ second finger pressed against his entrance and slid along the first, picking up the pace. God, George felt how tight he was after all that time and that only made Ross’ attention on him feel more intense. He reached for Ross again, cupping his stubbly jaw and tracing the hollow of his cheeks under his fingertips.

“My god, Ross, so… good…” he moaned between two shallow breaths as Ross didn’t ease up, fingering him open and taking him deep. Sweat was running down George’s temple and he couldn’t control his hips fully – only Ross’ grip kept him from thrusting into the wet mouth, from pushing himself back on those fingers inside him. Familiar yet entirely different and George wanted more. His arousal grew with every touch and lick and in the back of his mind he wondered what Ross would want in return. Or whether this was his way of apologizing for the punch. In any case, George’s blood boiled in his veins and he was sure that this was merely the prelude; the sounds Ross made around his cock spoke of his own need.

“Please…” George gasped.

He could almost trace the smile on Ross’ lips as he pulled off from his cock with an obscene sound and a tantalising lick to the head.

“Please what?” Rougher than before, closer than before. Ross’ mouth pressed a lazy kiss on George’s stomach and the banker’s head swam. Ross’ fingers still moved inside him in the same rhythm but the sudden lack of pressure on his cock let the next words rush out.

“Please, take me,” he gasped, “Now.”

Ross’ mouth moved upwards, his chuckle sending gushes of breath onto the banker’s sweaty skin when his fingers left his body. George moaned and one hand grabbed the sheet tightly; he was so utterly aroused and ready for Ross, for his cock inside him. The rustle of fabric sounded again and George felt Ross’ chest press against his lower stomach and sliding upwards, his mouth leading the way and dragging over his chest and nipple. Further up he moved and George trembled in expectation as more and more of Ross’ weight rested on him. The firm muscles, the broad build, his cock rubbing against his… George’s hands grabbed his back and traced the movements in his body, trying to grind against him in desire when Ross reached his throat and licked across his Adam’s apple.

“Spread your legs for me, George,” he breathed and George simply reacted. He pulled his other leg up too and immediately he felt Ross’ hand on his thigh, digging his fingers into his skin, positioning himself between his legs. His cock nudged against George’s entrance and the next thing he felt was Ross pushing into him.

“Ro-ss,” George’s breath hitched and his hole stretched for Ross as he entered him in a deep thrust.

 _God_. The drag of Ross’ cock inside him, the hard snap of his hips, the scratching nails on his thighs – George gasped out as pure _sensation_ washed through him. A wave that started in his groin and hotly moved through his veins, in every direction. His body seemed to offer itself up to Ross and he took everything. George’s skin crawled with pleasure, a new gush with every thrust by Ross, and his thighs pressed against his hips; that was exactly where he wanted Ross and god did it was so good to have him so close again, feeling his body and his cock buried deeply inside him. His breath came ragged as Ross picked up the pace. Every touch of his skin on George’s generated tension, excitement, _need_.

Ross didn’t lose any more time; all earlier teasing was gone now that he snapped his hips hard and deep. Heat rose from his body as well as Ross’ and George knew his cheeks were glowing. The blindfold caught the drops of sweat from his temple and stuck to his skin and when he heard a groaned “George…” coming from Ross’ lips he suddenly saw the situation from the outside, saw how utterly undone he must look with his dry lips open and a string of moans escaping from them, the silk across his eyes decadent and thrilling while Ross moved between his legs and sucked on his throat in determination to leave a mark.

“Yes,” George whispered hoarsely and carded his hand through the unruly locks winding around his fingers, dying for a kiss. Ross’ mouth must be so close to him; he could feel his breath on his throat and almost _tasted_ his lips. To feel his tongue pushing his mouth while his cock rubbed along his passage… Ross thrust into him again, his lips brushing against George’s cheek and down to his jaw, denying him the coveted kiss. Instead, the next thrust went deeper. George moaned loudly at the sudden sensation. He hadn’t forgotten what Ross felt like, no, but this… there was no way anything or anyone could ever recreate the subdued aggression and intensity of Ross’ thrusts. George lifted his leg higher, rubbing against Ross’ pushed down breeches, and hooked it behind the brunet’s back while thrusting up. Their movements met perfectly; Ross adjusted his grip on his hips and his cock slid deeper into George, in just the right angle, just the right kind of pressure and the banker moaned deeply as Ross hit his sweet spot. George’s back arched in the narrow space between their chests and rubbed against Ross’ sweaty torso when the brunet thrust into him again. Ross’ hand pulled his body closer and his hot breath gushed over George’s neck; the banker shivered and his right clawed at Ross’ back, his left inadvertently grabbed the sheet hard.

Christ, the sheer presence of Ross seemed to rob George of his mind. The knowledge that he was _there_ , that he was pleasuring him with such abandon and yet George was prevented from seeing him. He flexed his thigh harder around his back and Ross growled deep in his throat before picking up the speed once more. He felt his body rub against the sheet, his cock against Ross’ stomach, felt every impact of Ross’ hips roll through his muscles and George rode it out. The pillow in his neck was sliding further up and with the next snap of Ross’ hip the kerchief across his eyes slipped. On instinct, George narrowed his eyes at the sudden brightness before opening them again; only his left eye was still entirely covered and he could see fragments from underneath the silk. Ross’ clavicle, leading the way to the hollow of his throat, sweaty and gleaming in the harsh light, the sinews of his throat, his Adam’s apple jumping under the thin layer of stubble – George wetted his lips and moaned as the next thrust moved through him and paraded Ross’ scar when he turned his head. If only the kerchief slipped further and George could see more of Ross and his expression as he fucked him…

A flash of a dark green glance caught George’s eye. Glazed over for a second, then focussing on him.

“Oh George,” Ross seemed almost disapproving if it weren’t for his quick breath and obvious desire in his eyes, “you don’t want to spoil this, do you?”

“No…” George moaned with a rough voice he barely recognised as his own. Silk slid over his skin and the world was clad in lilac shadows again.

The banker swallowed heavily as Ross’ hands ran along his sides and suddenly, salty lips pressed onto his. George immediately opened his mouth and Ross kissed him with the same rough energy his hips were possessed by. Rough licks and a sharp nip to his lower lip made George groan out as he finally got the kiss he so desperately craved. Ross grunted against his mouth and the next deep thrust ripped a broken moan from George’s dry throat. Ross’ cock felt so _intense_ as it hit every sensitive spot inside him and sent wave after wave of pleasure through him.

Desire commanded his body and George simply gave in. He lifted his arms over his head and grabbed the bed’s headboard, letting Ross fuck him hard; just like he liked it, just how he had imagined it time and again in the privacy of his bedroom. His cock rubbed against Ross’ stomach and left a trail of pre-cum all over the hard muscles. Ross groaned again and grabbed George’s wrist with one hand while the other wound between their bodies and his weight receded slightly; a plea for more formed on George’s lips, his cock hot and hard, but before he turned air into sound Ross’ right scratched down his stomach and wrapped around his erection.

Ross thumbed over the head of his cock, spreading out the pre-cum and formed a circle with his fingers. His rough palm rubbed against his sensitive skin and George’s hips jerked upwards, half from a hard thrust and half on his own incentive, and his cock slid through the tight ring of Ross’ fingers. George trembled, sharp excitement shooting through him when the pressure inside him joined forces with the friction on his cock – a second stroke of Ross’ fingers but before they rode up again George felt them tighten around the base of his erection.

“No, Ross, please. I need more,” George moaned, desperate for friction and wriggling against the grip. Ross’ breath was coming short, his grunts barely distinguishable from one another; the brunet was close and George felt himself skirting to the edge as well, if only Ross would move his hand again. Inside him he felt Ross’ cock begin to twitch and George gasped for air as arousal shot through him. But the circle of Ross’ fingers stayed where it was as he thrust into him in a messy rhythm, rubbing along George’s passage and brushing his prostrate. George grabbed the metal of his headboard with force, his one connection to the vague presence of reality while a multitude of sensations rushed through him, robbing him of his mind. George felt the scratch of Ross’ stubble as he buried his head in his neck, groaning, grabbing George’s wrist tighter, keeping his other hand around the banker’s cock. Every nerve ending in George’s body seemed to be alight and reacting to the tiniest of details, combining to a whirlwind of desire. His chest heaved in heavy breaths and god, he was so close but the pressure of Ross’ fingers kept him from climaxing. Between his legs Ross snapped his hips again and with a strained grunt George felt him come. He groaned as Ross’ cock twitched, spilling hotly into him, sending out sparks of pointed pleasure. George’s world was but a whirl of lilac shadows and utter need that strained every muscle in his body. His thighs trembled and Ross pushed further into him, riding out his orgasm inside him with irregular thrusts. Hell, George hardly felt like himself anymore, consisting of nothing but need and utter abandon. Ross’ cock hit all the right spots but still it was nowhere near enough for George to come, the tight grip on his erection not easing up even when Ross collapsed onto him. George’s left grabbed his shoulder blade, pushing himself against him and running his nails down his back but to no avail – Ross’ hips slowed down and a moment later he slipped out of George.

“Ross,” George breathed hoarsely, his hand losing hold of him as he moved off of him. Every bit of waning pressure stirred George’s cock in expectation of something else, another way Ross would make him come. How much longer he could hold on, though, was a different matter altogether.

George licked his lips and he could just about keep from touching himself, Ross’ games be damned, when he felt the brunet move his hand on his cock again. A sigh of relief fell from his lips at the long strokes. Not fast enough yet but enough to sustain his arousal, to grant him the illusion of relief before he would come all over Ross’ hand while his seed still trickled from his hole… George’s hand moved to his nipple to finger it, the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears, the mattress moving. His right moved along his stomach driven by need to feel something inside him again and just as he reached down to touch himself Ross’ strokes stopped. George gasped at the sudden loss of friction and heard the rustling of fabric, the creaking of the wooden floor mixing into the almost straining sensations running through his overly sensitive body, so close to the edge yet kept from climax time and again. His muscles shook from the tension, every fibre in his body asking him to finally finish himself off but George couldn’t. If it had to be without Ross’ touch he at least wanted to see him, make him watch. With a determined pull George removed the blindfold from his eyes.

The harsh light of the afternoon falling through the large window irritated his eyes and George squinted for a moment. Colourful flashes danced across his retina and when he opened them again the world seemed still blurry around the edges. His glance fell onto the mattress first; his own legs, spread, sheets wrinkled and in disarray – but no Ross. A strange feeling dawned on George as he quickly turned his head to regain orientation in his own room, to make sense of whatever was occurring here. His heart beat heavily in his chest while his body was still drumming with arousal when his eyes widened.

 _No_. That couldn’t be real. Not like this and most of all, not _now_.

Ross stood by the door, one hand on the handle. Dressed in breeches and shirt, his waistcoat in hand he looked at George. Resentment sat in the dark eyes, and beneath it anger that lashed out at him with a force that George almost felt physically.

“I’ll _never_ be your mistress,” Ross hissed, “Enjoy your marriage. I hope it’ll be a long one.”

Denying George the chance of an answer he stepped over the threshold, closed the door behind him and was gone.

 

* * * * *

George’s breath came ragged from his raw throat as he knelt on the mattress; his left grabbed the headboard and his right moved along his erection. Leaning his head against his left upper arm George’s eyes were fastened on the strained muscles of his thighs and his hard cock, flush in the tight ring of his own fingers. The head shimmered with pre-cum and George moved his hand faster – oh, he could hardly cope with the intensity on his body, he _needed_ release. His chest was heaving, his hips pushed frantically into his fist while his knuckles on the headboard turned white. Blood rushed loudly through his veins and his every cell quivered, begging him to speed up, to finish. George could barely control his muscles anymore. They were shivering from exhaustion and need, his skin covered in sweat as he mustered the last of his energy. George’s head swam. Pressure built in his stomach again, seething, twisting, spreading through his tired out body to draw another spark of sensation from it George didn’t think he was capable of. His face pressed into the inside of his arm and when he jerked his hips forward once more, his hand sliding down his hot cock, he felt his orgasm hit.

 _My god_.

It wasn’t pain that shot through him but it certainly wasn’t pleasure either. His body shook uncontrollably as he came over his hand in long and thick spurts, his working hand spreading it over his cock in slick wetness. George groaned from deeply from within his throat, a choked gasp, as sheer intensity lit him from the inside. Every muscle contracted and for a long moment George was no longer master of his own body. His nerves reacted and without his consent he pressed his mouth against his arm, breathing heavily against his skin as he simply existed. His hand still worked his slick cock and when his hips jerked again he moaned, _finally_ feeling something more defined. A shiver of pleasure rolled through him, mild and tame in comparison but oh so perfect – to George’s oversensitive body it felt like a drawn-out wave. His thrusts receded and the throbbing in his limbs remained, steady and comforting. Every cell pulsated in pleasure and release, wave after wave running through him in an orgasm that didn’t seem to end. Gooseflesh and heat, contraction and relaxation played out on his skin as his body was hit by another jolt George didn’t think he’d be able to produce anymore. His cock twitched and leaked in his hand; cum ran down his hand and soiled the pillow. His lips felt dry and his throat ached from the sounds that forced their way out still until finally, finally the last shiver ran through him.

George closed his eyes for a moment and felt his blood pumping through his body, felt every muscle relax slowly. His chest heaved in heavy breaths and he felt his hair stick to his temples, rivulets of sweat running down the side of his face and along his neck. His thighs burned from the tension of holding his entire weight and with a careful move George let go of the headboard and released his body from the position. He slumped down and leaned his back against the headboard. God, all that tension in his body had worn him out and his limbs begged him to remain here for a moment. But George couldn’t just rest. He was a mess, as was his bed, drenched in sweat and cum. With effort he sat up and reached for a clean towel in his night stand, wetting it with water from the carafe and wiped himself down. Quickly, efficiently, erasing the most obvious evidence of what happened here.

Stark naked George went over to his dresser and poured himself a glass of wine, something to ease his nerves, and slipped on his dressing gown before sinking down carefully on the armchair across from his bed. His heart beat slower now but still as heavy and his mind felt slightly hazy still. George took a sip of his drink and it ran down his dry throat soothingly.

He breathed out slowly, vaguely aware of his throbbing but relaxed body, and the last bit of breath caught in his throat and stumbled over his lips as a strained laugh.

 _That wretched bastard_.

More laughter gushed out of him – too shrill in his ears, on the verge of hysteria. This was… _outrageous_ and still he couldn’t stop the laughter from echoing in his bedroom. Outrageous and crafty. George rubbed his free hand through his face and took a few deep breaths, calming down. The absurd urge still tickled the inside of his throat but another sip of wine quenched it.

Ross Poldark had fooled him.

The thought seemed such a simple one. Yet everything about it was out of place, jumbled, plain wrong. George was the one to pull the threads in their arrangement. He was the initiator and the inspiration behind what Ross considered his ideas. And just like that Ross had turned the tables. A flash of anger grew in George’s stomach and put out the irrational laughter for good. This was no laughing matter; he had fallen for Ross’ plan. Embarrassingly so. The root of it was clearly his enduring fascination with Ross. George frowned. He was aware that some of his decisions concerning Ross weren’t entirely driven by reason but in this case he should have seen beyond it. It seemed so painfully obvious now. Neither the pronounced civility nor the calm in all of his words had been an admission of error. All this talk of wanting him had been nothing but a ruse for revenge.

George cursed under his breath. His first instinct of throwing Ross out again had been right. He should have trusted his gut, his anger, instead of… well, instead of Ross’ offering. The kerchief still lay on the bed across from George, thrown aside carelessly when he had ripped it from his eyes. Ross had understood that only something of sentimental value would fully reassure George. And he had been all too right about that.

Still, the basis of all this was something that had never happened. George’s suggestion had never been that Ross were his mistress. He had never uttered the offending word, hadn’t even thought it until Ross insisted. It all came down to their fight, to words misunderstood and left unsaid. George idly played with the glass in his hand. He had legitimately assumed that Ross’ punch had held all his anger. Who knew that it had festered into this cruel streak. This plan of Ross’ had been more perfidious than George had thought and in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but acknowledge the deviousness behind it. It took a certain kind of man to fool him. _Well played, Poldark._ He had beaten him at his own game. And with certainty, George knew that this game had truly run its course.

George’s hand ran along his thigh as he pulled the dressing gown tighter; he shivered lightly now that his body calmed down fully. It had been exhilarating, he couldn’t deny that, and despite the unfortunate ending he was sure that Ross had enjoyed himself, too. Not merely because of his spiteful revenge, of the thought that he had brought George so close only to leave him and make him get off by his own hands. If that had been the case Ross could’ve chosen an easier path. No, he had wanted to take him again, and the thought made George smile smugly. _You can’t resist this_. _For better or worse_. Whichever plan they came up with, whichever way they manipulated the other to behave it was always a double bind, a matter of dependence.


	20. Truro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Epilogue.

The Red Lion wasn’t crowded but moderately busy. The hum of human voices and the clatter of glasses and cutlery filled the room, chairs scraping over the wooden floor. Ross leaned at the bar with his eyes fixed on the spiral staircase that led to the rooms upstairs. The innkeeper had assured him that Dwight still stayed with them and had even provided the room number. But Ross didn’t want to knock on his door and impose on him right away. Besides, the walls were thin. Any conversation held in the taproom would be, ironically enough, more private.

Ross took a sip of his ale when he saw Dwight come down the stairs, dressed in his work outfit. In his right he carried his practitioner’s case, in his left Ross made out a rolled up newspaper. _Good_. It hadn’t been too long that Ross would have forgotten Dwight’s habit of reading the paper after lunch. And that meant that he had a few moments to spare before continuing his day’s work. Dwight reached the bottom of the stairs and made for a nook a little further in the back, sat down and put the newspaper on the table.

Ross’ eyes lingered on Dwight for a short moment. He looked well, he thought, forever keeping the perfect balance between approachability as a man and authority as a doctor.

Ross turned to the barkeep and motioned for a second order. Then, he grabbed both mugs of ale and walked through the crowd of chatting miners towards Dwight’s table.

“Hello Dwight,” he said and tried for a smile.

Dwight looked up from his paper and the second he recognised Ross surprise spread over his expression. Dwight’s face was an easy one to read. Nothing like George’s perfectly crafted mask or his own stoic appearance as Ross realised now and somehow, it felt like a breath of fresh air. Honesty. Not a virtue he had been overly familiar with recently.

“Ross,” Dwight said, brows furrowed and head tilted in question. Before Ross felt compelled to say more though, the doctor indicated the chair across from him with a nod. Ross sat down, put both mugs on the table and slid one towards Dwight.

“I’ve come to apologise for our fight,” Ross started without preamble. What he had to say didn’t need introduction and wasting time with chitchat didn’t do either of them justice.

“I had already quarrelled with George and when you confronted me… I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, much less thrown you out. I know you meant well and acted as a friend. Which I couldn’t do in that moment.”

Dwight looked at him quietly like before but to Ross’ relief his expression had softened. It wasn’t yet a smile but Dwight’s hand wrapped around the mug in acceptance of the offer.

Ross breathed out slowly before he went on in a low voice, half a hint of humility, half a precaution against curious ears. “Whatever George and I were entangled in is over now. We’re done. The only time I’ll see him is in public when it’s not avoidable.”

Dwight placed his arms on the table and leaned forward, nodding in acknowledgement.

“That’s good,” he said simply.

A sudden wave of friendship rushed through Ross at the half-smile Dwight gave him. No gloating on his part, no snappish answer to pry more out of him – Dwight was a gentleman if there ever was one and Ross had wronged him.

“You were right,” Ross said and looked him firmly in the eyes, hoping for him to see how serious his apology was. “We were too careless and too arrogant.”

For a moment, Dwight remained silent and sipped on his beer as he took in Ross’ words.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” he began slowly, “why George in the first place? From all the stories you told me about your youth he was the last one I’d expect.”

 _That’s a damned good question_. Ross drew his brows together in thought. “I can’t say with certainty. When I came back from the war everything was so…”

Ross stopped, grasping for a word he couldn’t find. How to explain something that defied explanation? Once their arrangement had taken shape all thoughts of whys and wherefores had lost importance.

“Elizabeth had married Francis, Nampara was in ruins,” Ross started anew in an attempt to make sense of it, to give Dwight the answer he so clearly deserved. “Not one part of my life was like I had left it. And somehow, George appeared when I needed an outlet. It took on a life of its own.” He looked at Dwight apologetically, “I should’ve told you.”

“Well, it seems like you emerged unscathed,” Dwight said sympathetically and his smile turned into a little smirk. “All people talk about is the grand wedding of George and Miss Porter.”

Ross chuckled. “I imagine there’s much to gossip about.”

“Indeed.” Dwight grinned, “Apparently, half of Cornwall will attend.”

The ease with which their fight was over and done with left a warm feeling in Ross. This was the company he liked, the company he didn’t have to fear would turn against him or had an ulterior motive.

When the amused gleam in Dwight’s eyes receded slightly he looked at him openly. “Thank you, Ross.” Then, he grabbed his newspaper and moved to stand up. “I need to be on my way now, though. I’ve got a few more patients today.”

Ross pushed back his chair as well. “One more thing, Dwight,” he said, almost hesitantly, “If you have enough of this establishment and can imagine living at Nampara again I’d be glad.”

Dwight smiled at him warmly. “I’ll think about it. Would you like to accompany me?”

Ross nodded, stood up and left the Inn together with Dwight.

 

* * * * * * * *

“I would not have thought that of him,” Miss Porter said, leaning into George’s arm as they walked through the streets of Truro. The wind already carried the evidence of the approaching winter but she had been right, George thought, a while away from the planning and organising of the wedding was a nice change. And somehow, out among the scurry of busy feet George felt himself relax.

“Neither have I, admittedly,” George nodded and laid his gloved hand over hers. “At least not to that extent. But what’s done is done.”

His sentiment was honest and no mere lie to appease his wife-to-be. It was strange, in fact – George was not in the habit of telling people anything about his private life, much less about the complications therein. But things stood differently with Miss Porter. Perceptive woman that she was she had noticed George’s pensive demeanour over the last two days since the _incident_ and asked him outright. Now that their paths were intertwined her earlier assessment of not wanting to know about him and Ross had changed. And George found an attentive listener in her.

“Any counteraction would be too risky,” George went on, “And not worth it, frankly.”

Miss Porter nodded slowly as she considered his words, remaining quiet.

“What is it?” George asked gently at her uncharacteristic silence. “Are you of another opinion?”

“I don’t know Ross well enough to form a reliable estimation. I’m sure you know what’s best in this situation. No, it’s another matter,” Miss Porter answered thoughtfully and looked at George, a line of worry winding along her forehead. “With him out of the picture I cannot help but think that you might feel that this wedding is a mistake. The last thing I intend is trapping you.”

George smiled as affection grew in his chest. She was right about the strange twist of fate their plan had suffered – but that didn’t change the appreciation he held for her.

“I know, darling,” he said and squeezed her hand. “And you are doing no such thing. Ross was never the decisive factor. It’s openness, trust, and friendship that I value between us. Concerning the other subject do not worry, possibilities will arise in due time. I assure you, it’s perfect the way it is now.”

Miss Porter smiled at him. “I’m glad.”

They walked on through town, chatting amiably and admiring the displays in the shop windows. A short inquiry at George’s tailor informed them that his coat would be done later today and just as they left the shop two well-known figures came their way. Ross and Dr Enys, engaged deeply in what looked like friendly conversation.

George furrowed his brows at the sight of the two men. Both were smiling and Ross’ hand on Dr Enys’ back spoke of their ease with one another – their friendship appeared to be intact again. Whether this reconciliation had happened before Ross’ visit at the Warleggan Mansion or after George couldn’t tell. In any case, whatever resentment Dr Enys had fostered weeks ago seemed to be bygone.

“Speak of the devil,” Miss Porter muttered and George gave her a conspiratorial glance before fixing his eyes on the approaching men.

“Ross, Dr Enys,” he greeted neutrally, for a moment curious whether Ross would actually return the gesture. He called himself a gentleman, that was certain, yet when it came to implementing the norm they both knew how stubborn he could be.

A fleeting look at George and Ross nodded in kind, followed by Dr Enys. “George, Ma’am.”

No lingering glance, no contemptuous grin that might be considered a provocation. Just a nod that lesser acquainted gentlemen would share, delivered in passing.

“Well,” Miss Porter said once they were out of earshot, a hint of humour colouring her voice. “It seems that you’re on the same page.”

“We never are,” George answered with a fine smile. “But whatever this was, it has run its course. For now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we are, this has become quite a long story after all...  
> It's a small fandom and I just like to thank all you lovely Gross-pervs out there for your wonderful and continued support for this story! You're all so kind and just awesome human beings. It has been so much fun.  
> Happy holidays, everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you feel like it leave me a comment [ or say Hi over at tumblr ](http://www.ninetiesnecklace.tumblr.com) :)


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